Seared with Scars
by justvisiting80
Summary: "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." (Khalil Gibran) ... This is set just after Episode 107 ("Contents Under Pressure") and will not follow canon from that point on. Let's just see what happens, shall we? Bellarke, Bellarke, Bellarke. Rated M for several mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

_[A/N: This story was poking at me for weeks. I sat on it for far too long, trying to see where it was headed… and now the time has definitely come to set this one free. Please be honest, but also try to be kind. This is literally my second fanfic ever!]_

_[A/N2: I have an amazing Beta, who always pushes me to be my best, and I need to say a BIG thank you to Marina Black1 for her work on this piece. She is an accomplished writer herself, and I recommend you check her out!]_

_..._

_**"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are ****seared with scars**_**_."_  
****~ Khalil Gibran**

Bellamy Blake certainly had a type. Clarke didn't really care, though. Obviously. It was exactly what you would expect from someone that arrogant, that he would see every tall slim brunette on Earth as his for the taking. He probably didn't even know half their names.

It wasn't like it actually mattered to her at all. Problems only arose whenever she needed him, and was forced to stop by his tent. She always expected it to reek of sex, even though somehow it only ever smelled of him. It was a strangely comforting smell; it chased away fear, an ability of his that Clarke resented. She added it to the list of things she resented about Bellamy: his arrogance; his knowing smirk; the way his dark eyes pierced deeper into her soul than anyone had the right to peer; and now, the scent of him.

Clarke scrubbed one hand angrily over her face, willing her exhausted brain to stay alert just a while longer, focus on the task at hand without coming unglued. For the past three nights Clarke had been shaken awake by Monty and Jasper, pulling her from horrifying nightmares in which she had lost her humanity completely. It had been more than two weeks since her last good night's sleep, and that had been in a prison cell. She actually missed her thin pallet and square, bare room these days. The storm had done a lot of damage to the camp, and more teens than usual were sleeping in the drop-ship now, even invading her makeshift sick bay. She was tired of sharing a room with so many others. Especially the ones who couldn't keep their libidos in check.

Ever since the Grounders' attack, people barely dared venture beyond the Wall. Privacy was gone, but the hormones raged on.

At least Raven and Finn weren't sleeping together yet. He still needed bed rest. Clarke wasn't sure how she would feel when that particular order was lifted, even though she was no longer interested in pursuing anything there. But since Raven's depraved electric shock torture of the Grounder - combined with the storm - had weakened and finally killed their radio feed to the Ark, Clarke would be the one responsible for finally releasing Finn back into Raven's needy embrace.

The loss of the radio wasn't just tough on her personally. Without that invisible line to the Ark's vast library of information about Earth, the colonists were once again left to fend for themselves. Monty and Raven had teamed up, uniting their prodigious talents in an effort to restore contact; but Clarke had no interest in sitting around hoping. She was a planner, and knew winter was coming to the planet's northern hemisphere… Which had led her to this beastly task of searching out Bellamy Blake.

She was surprised to find the tent empty. In their first week, she had practically tripped over the half-dressed bodies of his girls every time she got anywhere near here. It occurred to her that more recently, the tent had been relatively quiet.

None of which helped her in the slightest. She was here for Bellamy, not his harem, and an unoccupied tent was frustrating. Rather than wander aimlessly through camp, Clarke decided to wait him out. She tried sitting in one of the seats that had been torn from the interior of the drop-ship to serve as temporary furniture, but her impatience led her to fidget, which could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. Clarke stood abruptly, and decided to lean against the table instead. It was not nearly as stable as she'd thought, though, and items flew everywhere as the damned thing collapsed. She swore and set the table upright quickly, then began a mad scramble for whatever precious items had been enjoying their precarious perch on that shitty table. A glimmer from the opposite side of Bellamy's pile of bedding caught her eye and after just a moment of hesitation, she crawled across to investigate. She was nearly there when she felt a subtle change in the atmosphere of the small enclosure.

How Bellamy was able to clear his throat in such an amused manner, she would never know. It shouldn't be possible to convey that much disdain in a wordless sound. She froze, silently willing the heat from her face, refusing to turn back to him. After a beat, Clarke decided she had no choice but to keep moving. She reached across the last few feet and grabbed the item she had spotted earlier. Closer inspection revealed it to be an old compass. The find was enough to distract Clarke from her humiliation at being caught snooping; she sat on the bed and turned back to Bellamy, eyes wide. He was staring at her, hands shoved heavily into his pockets.

"Where did you get this?" she asked him.

Bellamy didn't answer. His face was an inscrutable mask, but the hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. He hadn't moved, standing in the doorway, staring at her in a way that made her angry.

"Look, I just leaned against it, and the whole thing exploded," Clarke tried to explain. "I'm sorry. Okay? Is that what you need from me?"

"Why are you here?" he asked her gruffly, finally stepping into the tent fully. Clarke stood up, moving to put the compass back on his table – gingerly. She was normally a very careful person; there was no excuse for what had happened in here. She couldn't have him thinking any less of her for this momentary carelessness.

"We need to think about winter," Clarke announced, glad for the change in subject. She knew he would automatically disagree with her. He always did. So she pushed ahead with her reasoning, hoping to get out ahead of his protests. "We don't have any reliable data on what the weather will be like, but we should prepare for the worst. That could mean snow, and lots of it. And temperatures below zero. Most people are sleeping in these tents," she gestured at their current location, "which will be as good as useless if things really get bad. I know you think I'm being -"

"I agree."

Clarke had not expected that. Her brow creased and she frowned at Bellamy, confused.

"You… what?" Bellamy crossed past her, his arm brushing roughly against her shoulder in the cramped space; he sat in one of the drop-ship seats, and motioned to Clarke to take a seat on the offending bed. She stared at him like he was crazy and stayed where she was. He locked his hands behind his head in a posture of comfort, and looked up at her.

"I agree. We need to plan." Bellamy tilted his head a bit at her stunned reaction. "It's okay, Clarke, I'm allowed to agree with you, if you're right."

"No, - Yeah, - Of course, - I didn't mean it like that," Clarke stammered. She sighed. "It's good that we can agree on something."

"We agreed on how to handle the Grounder." As he said it, Bellamy's voice lowered and his eyes darkened.

"No! I made a mistake, Bellamy. One I have to live with now." Clarke looked away from him. "Octavia was right. She was right about it all." It bothered her, admitting that she had fallen so far from the moral high ground. Especially in front of him.

Up until this moment, all discussion of the Grounder's fate had been unofficially taboo, since that morning after the storm. Both Clarke and Bellamy understood: it was an argument with no good end, and right now a fight between the two of them was a waste of their scant energy.

"Clarke, I told you: what we do down here to survive, that doesn't define who we are." Bellamy's voice broke through the fog of her thoughts.

"But it _does_, Bellamy. It's the _only_ thing that defines us."

Her words bit into him. Sometimes she really could be the cruelest among them. How did she always know just what to say, to cut him to the quick? The only reason he was still standing, still making decisions, was because he _knew_ it was all about survival. Everything that had happened in the past two weeks – really, since Commander Shumway had circled him like a vulture and then offered him a pistol and his last job on the Ark – had always been about nothing more than that. The things he had done, the choices he had been forced to make: if they carried some heavier weight beyond the immediacy of survival, if they defined him somehow… Then he would have no choice but to hate who he had become. Her words seemed both a judgment and a curse.

Clarke knew Bellamy was struggling with something, because the lean muscle that ran beneath the warm tan skin of his jaw was tenser than usual. Well… Good. She had been thinking of her own recent mistakes when she spoke, but really - he wasn't immune either. He had made some poor choices, and cost people their lives. The torture of the Grounder was just another example, one in which she had been complicit, because of Finn. She resented Finn deeply right now. Resented the ambiguity he kept foisting upon her, mostly; there just was no room for _more_ ambiguity in her life. She'd just as soon put the whole mess behind her. She shook her head, trying to hold her thoughts together just a bit longer. This was important, Finn was not...

"Okay, forget I said anything," Bellamy backed down temporarily. He regretted bringing the Grounder up again, although it was a topic they would certainly have to revisit soon. They couldn't keep that man chained up forever. He was a drain on resources: food, water, and labor. Bellamy only trusted his own people with guarding the prisoner, and he desperately needed them to help get the camp back in working order.

"So can we get back to your plan for the winter?" he asked her with a hint of the old challenge in his voice again. "Mount Weather is off-limits, you know that. I won't lose any more people risking a raid there."

"I know. I have another idea," Clarke said, and she allowed a rare smile to pass across her face. "And that compass of yours might actually come in handy."


	2. Chapter 2

**"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."  
~ Khalil Gibran**

Clarke didn't smile; never at him. He'd seen her laugh at the antics of Jasper and Monty, he'd watched as Octavia worked her way into Clarke's heart and eventually set off a quick, indulgent grin here or there. He'd noticed the way her mouth rose at the… Spacewalker… when she thought nobody was paying attention. Hell, she'd even managed a smile for Atom as she took his life, sending him floating with that final image of warmth and comfort. But she did not smile at Bellamy Blake, and he'd gotten used to the Ice Princess routine. So a sudden playfulness around her lips flustered him momentarily.

"Wow, Princess, is that what a smile looks like? Better be careful; you wouldn't want to start some new tradition," he teased her instinctively. Clarke's bright grin disappeared instantly, and he looked over at the table, at the compass, because he needed to not see the hurt his words had caused her. He could feel the balance of their relationship settle back into that now-comfortable groove of barely restrained hostility. Silence, for one beat, two beats, three beats… _Dammit! Fine! _He propelled himself upright, until he stood over her once again. The advantage was his, by nearly a full head.

"Clarke. I'm... That was just… bad habit. You were saying?"

"You know what? Forget it; I'm sure I can find someone else to go with me." Clarke turned to leave, even though she knew there was absolutely nobody else in camp she trusted with her plan. But her frustration - and all right, yes, her pride – demanded that she walk away from Bellamy and his twisted power plays.

Bellamy's heart missed a beat at her words. _Go?_ Going… That was not an option for Clarke. She would not be going anywhere, certainly not with anyone but him. He hated admitting his reliance on her, but she had already saved the lives of at least three people, Octavia's included. Everyone's odds of survival were greatly increased if Clarke Griffin remained healthy and whole… and he trusted her safety to a rapidly dwindling number of people.

"You're not going anywhere," he insisted, reaching out. He snagged the fabric of her jacket at the elbow, stopping her retreat for the moment.

"Fuck you, Bellamy." She didn't even bother turning around.

"Hey, come _on_." Something in his voice convinced her to turn back to him, although she still looked murderous. "Think about it. Who are you going to take, huh? Octavia, Jasper? They're barely mobile. Monty and Raven – you need them here, fixing your radio. None of _my_ people will make a move without my approval. So that just leaves the Spacewalker." Bellamy smirked now, wanting to share his real feelings about that one but holding back for the sake of a temporary peace with Clarke. He stepped forward; she stepped back. "We both know Finn's not going anywhere for a long time."

"There are quite literally _dozens_ of other people in this camp besides you, Bellamy. I'm sure I'll come up with something," she snapped, her face now inches from his and her eyes crackling. He stepped back, reached for the compass absentmindedly. He bounced it in his hand as he spoke – and this time his voice was quieter, more urgent.

"You think Murphy was the worst of them?" He shook his head. "You're wrong. There are _actual_ murderers out there, Clarke. Do you know which ones they are?... How about the rapists? Because they're out there, too. Not everyone was imprisoned just for smoking a little herb." As he spoke, Clarke exhaled heavily.

Nothing he'd said was wrong. It was why she had come here first, honestly. He might hate her, but he wouldn't kill her, and he certainly wouldn't touch her. That was quite literally as far as she trusted him; under their current circumstances, though, it was a pretty important quality to have in a partner.

After staring him down for a few seconds, just to make sure he didn't think he'd somehow won something, Clarke finally nodded and relaxed her stance. Her shoulders lowered, minutely, although she refused to let them actually sag. He couldn't know the extent of her exhaustion. It would be ammunition for him to use against her. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her well-worn map. She opened it carefully on the bed with a quick glare at the traitorous table. It would have been easier up there – but she wouldn't risk another embarrassment in front of Bellamy.

He crouched down beside her as she pointed out Mount Weather, and then the site of their camp. This was not exactly news. He bit back sarcasm and waited for her to explain herself.

"We already know we can't travel east. As soon as we try to cross the river, we're on the Grounders' territory. But look here; you see that, to the west?" Bellamy leaned in closer and read the word aloud:

"Berryville. So?"

"It's a town. Or, it was, over a hundred years ago. It's close. You and I could make it there in half a day. There must be _something_ still standing. Maybe even a hospital. Medical supplies. Building supplies." Her eyes found his, and they sparkled with hope. She ended her proposition with the most tempting suggestion she could. "Bellamy. There could even be weapons."

He sat back on his haunches and considered her quietly for a long time. Could she even make it? She _had_ to be tired. He knew she hadn't been sleeping well; Octavia, it turned out, was a terrible gossip. But Clarke was also one of the best Earth Skills generalists in camp, which a scouting party would need. Half these idiots could barely tell a tree from a toadstool. And it would need to be as small, efficient, fast as possible… There was really only one problem with her plan.

"Who would keep an eye on the camp?" Bellamy asked. Clarke had been expecting this.

"Raven and Finn." She trusted them enough. Raven scared a lot of people, which seemed to be working for Bellamy pretty well so far. And Finn would be able to temper her hotheadedness. "It's only a day and a half. Two at the most."

"No way! Spacewalker can't even eat without help. What were you thinking?" he challenged her instantly. "It should be Miller."

"You can't be serious. That man's a total thug."

"Yeah, _my_ thug. He'll maintain order."

"No!"

"Yes, or I'm calling it off!" Bellamy growled. Clarke pulled back.

"You don't have that right. If I want to go, I'll go. _You_ can stay to watch the camp," she asserted. _Shit._ She had the upper hand, and she knew it.

"Wait! Wait. Okay. Miller is in charge of the Grounder, then." Before she could protest again, Bellamy shook his head at her. "I need to know he's being watched carefully."

"_Fine._ And, look - I know Finn's too weak. But Raven can't do it alone."

They sat together in silence, stuck at the lack of leadership potential in the group.

"Octavia?" Clarke finally suggested, just as Bellamy offered, "Monty?"

"There's no way Octavia should be in charge of anybody," Bellamy insisted. "But Monty and Raven get along okay."

"Fine. I'll go tell them," Clarke said, reaching for the map and folding it very carefully into her pocket once again. She was so protective of that map; for some reason he could not explain, it made Bellamy itch to hold that worn paper, to solve the mystery of why Clarke Griffin guarded it so jealously.

Instead, he began to gather items they might need. She was right about the compass – it would come in handy. He had found it tucked into an otherwise useless survival kit on the drop ship (the gas mask and rubber gloves he'd discarded instantly, although he'd pocketed the small box of matches and tiny switchblade). That had been their first day on Earth; chaos had reigned supreme, and hoarding valuables seemed like a wise choice at the time. By now, he had come to think of them as his possessions, and couldn't even picture sharing them with the rest of the community.

He tossed all three items into the bottom of a makeshift bag, along with a scrap of blanket; there was just enough room for a day's supply of food and water on top. He turned to exit, and caught Clarke staring at him. When he tilted his head questioningly, he was shocked to see her blush. The color started at the base of her throat and pushed its way up to her cheeks, and Bellamy suddenly found the tent far too small. He pushed past her brusquely, calling out for Monroe as he stalked away.

Clarke sighed and ran a hand through her hair, then followed Bellamy out. It looked like it was going to be a long two days. She desperately hoped she had not just made a terrible mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

_[A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who is reading. I am very conscious of the plethora of great Bellarke work out there, so I'm honored that ANYone would read mine! Also, to steal blatantly from others before me: fanfic writers are paid only in reviews. We are feedback junkies, frankly. So please let me know your thoughts!]_

_..._

**"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." ~ Khalil Gibran**

By the time they had announced the plan, convinced Monroe and Miller of their importance as guardians of the Grounder, and talked Monty down from a panic attack at being left in charge, the sun had moved to the western half of the sky… the wrong half of the sky. Clarke considered waiting until tomorrow morning, just so there would be more daylight; but now that they had a mission beyond just repair and cleanup, Bellamy moved with renewed purpose. He was impatient to be on the way. He had just barely restrained himself when Clarke insisted on packing her own bag: mostly whatever rudimentary first aid supplies she had managed to cobble together, and more water.

Now, she adjusted the strap over her shoulder and watched him carefully as he sidled up to Octavia, just outside the entrance to the ship. Bellamy was still trying to repair things with his kid sister, who had not forgiven either of them for their actions against the prisoner. The difference, of course, was that while Clarke would have _liked_ to be friendly with Octavia again, Bellamy was despair incarnate in the face of his sister's punishing cold shoulder. He kept making it worse by trying to make it better.

"Okay, so… I'm leaving. Try to stay out of trouble?"

"No. You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, Bell."

"I'm still your brother, Octavia. I just – I care about you, I want you to be safe..." She snorted at that. Clarke saw the pain flicker over his features. It softened him momentarily.

"No you don't, you just say that to make me do whatever the hell you want! _Always_! It's always whatever Bellamy wants!" The slim teen shoved him furiously, but it was pointless; he stood, a rock wall against her abuse. He waited until she pulled back again before speaking more softly.

"O, look, it'll just be two days. Okay? You'll be fine as long as you listen to Raven." Bellamy reached out for Octavia's shoulder but she flinched away.

"Take your time, jackass; don't hurry back on my account. And by the way, Raven's totally sadistic. I can't believe you're leaving her in charge." If Bellamy kept this up, Octavia would be escaping into the woods with their prisoner by sunset. Clarke had to stop the spiraling conversation for everyone's sake.

"Octavia, wait; you're the only one who's got enough training to take care of the Grounder's wounds. Monroe can be with you, okay?" It would _have _to be okay. Monroe was one of the few members of Bellamy's posse that had not actually been involved in the capture and torture of the prisoner. Octavia shrugged. She was pissed at Clarke, too, but at least they had a less complicated, less emotionally-charged relationship. She would still hear reason, if it came from the blonde girl.

As they opened the gate for the first time in days, Clarke sighed and risked a glance at her traveling companion. He nodded at her, their mutually-understood shorthand for "thanks". It was the only acknowledgement Bellamy could give, that Clarke had just handled Octavia better than he. Clarke almost grabbed his hand just before they stepped across the threshold of their camp. Quietly, she congratulated herself on not succumbing to the temptation. If she admitted fear here, now, before they had even started… _ugh_. Better not to think about it. Together they moved cautiously into the forest.

The first hour was tense, silent, and interrupted by frequent false alarms; every rustle, bird call, or unexplained shadow was assumed to be a Grounder. After the tenth such moment of frozen, adrenaline-soaked dread, Clarke broke the silence.

"Can we just – just wait a second?" There was frustration in her voice, which almost – _almost_ – masked the exhaustion Bellamy had thought he imagined earlier that morning. So. She _did_ have a breaking point.

"What's the matter, Princess? Tired already?"

"No. That's not it. But we'll never get there at this rate. We can't just panic at every little sound, Bellamy. It's a forest. There are animals everywhere. We'll kill ourselves before we make it halfway." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes temporarily, enjoying a warm beam of sunlight that had broken through the dense foliage above them.

Bellamy paused, too, and stretched as he thought about what she said. She had a point. It might be better if one of them navigated, while the other kept watch. Maybe she'd finally let him get his hands on that mystery map, even.

Clarke opened her eyes and looked over just in time to catch Bellamy reaching skyward, trying to relieve a kink in his lower back. The hem of his shirt rose up. It revealed a thin ribbon of light brown flesh, running hip to hip. Clarke turned away immediately. Her brow furrowed at the physical reaction she'd just had, and she tried to blink the image away.

"Okay, so I'll lead. You can keep an eye out for Grounders." She set off without looking at him again. She wouldn't have to look at him again for a good long while if she were in the lead, which suited her just fine.

Bellamy trotted to catch up, surprised that she had the jump on him. Clarke was furiously difficult to read. For Bellamy, whose experiences with women had – up until the drop-ship landed on Earth – been limited to Octavia and Aurora, Clarke was an enticing mystery. Aurora had been a busy working mom at the best times; at her worst… well, at her absolute worst she had cursed Bellamy with Octavia. His sister. His responsibility. His downfall. But also, in giving him his earliest lessons in unconditional love, his salvation.

All of which made Octavia's current fury so much harder to bear. Bellamy had never been abandoned by her, _ever_. Aurora, yes; constantly. By age 10 he had stopped pretending he didn't know where she went. She was a talented seamstress, but not talented enough to keep them stocked in enough extra food, water, and clothing rations for another body. Perhaps, he considered, he was meant to see hers as the noblest sacrifice of all; but he couldn't. She sold her body time and time again... And every time, she sold off a piece of Bellamy's childhood with it.

The woods began to clear as the ground sloped up gently, and Clarke slowed a bit, struggling now on more uneven footing. She stumbled once or twice but caught herself in time; he would _not_ see her fall. She was actually enjoying how compliant he had been so far; when there was no audience, Bellamy's bluster faded. It was in these rare moments that she found him more human, more approachable.

The ground angled away unexpectedly in front of her, and Bellamy grabbed Clarke's wrist just as her boot missed the change in terrain and nearly sent her tumbling.

"Dammit, Bellamy! I'm fine!" She turned back and jerked her arm away as if his iron-hard fingers had burnt her. She knew it wasn't fair to yell at him, but she was just so _mad_ at herself. It was exhausting enough being down on this planet, trying to keep everyone from descending into chaos, patching people up wherever she could, getting barely any sleep, without having to make sure her guard was up whenever Bellamy Blake was nearby. Especially since he seemed to be nearby a lot more recently.

He wouldn't even look at her, wouldn't speak to her.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "That was uncalled for. I guess I should thank you -"

"Shut up, Clarke," Bellamy whispered with a quick sidelong glance. He pointed directly behind her with his chin, and slowly Clarke turned.

His silence had nothing at all to do with her. The sun was setting just ahead of them, and from this vantage point atop an outcropping on the side of the hill, the rays painted magic across the landscape. Clarke gasped and a hard lump rose in her throat. How many times had she pictured this? How many hours had she spent, hands growing black with charcoal, trying to bring to life something she had never witnessed with her own eyes? The real thing was… _so_ _much_ _better._ Without thinking about it, Clarke leaned into Bellamy and watched as clouds around the sun's edge slowly changed color and shape. Pinks and oranges danced in combinations she hadn't ever considered; the green of the trees on the hills around them dripped with gold now; the sky directly overhead was a color she couldn't name, a purple-blue that made her want to soar up and touch it, to capture a bit for herself and hide it away jealously from others' prying eyes. Her chest collapsed in on itself under the weight of this beauty, and was rebuilt, grander, fuller; she remembered, finally, to breathe, and the air escaped her lungs in a rush of joy.

As the colors deepened and the shadows lengthened, a violent red overtook the horizon. The reverie that had overtaken them both broke then, and Clarke discovered Bellamy's arm had crept around her waist only when she noticed the glaring absence of it. She looked up at him, her own expression carefully guarded. Without looking back at her, Bellamy nodded across the valley floor.

"So our grocery store is out there, I guess. Well, we'll never make it tonight. We better find shelter." He pulled away, shut down, and left Clarke an island once again.

And that was it. Whatever had just happened had just... never happened.


	4. Chapter 4

_[A/N: I swear to you, I wrote most of this chapter before seeing episode 108, "Day Trip"! Similarities are coincidental, and I actually went back and rewrote parts of this chapter to minimize the effects; hopefully it won't be too distracting.]_

…

**"When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

Bellamy was a man on fire now. It had been a stupid move, standing there, wasting the last of the day's light; it just made his current job that much harder.

Never mind the way her face had glowed. Never mind that for a brief time, the Ice Princess had just been Clarke, naked and raw. It had been _such_ weakness on his part, and now he had no choice but to scramble. _This is why_, he thought to himself, _this is exactly why she couldn't_… he didn't even let himself finish the sentence.

Clarke was barely a moment behind him, determined to prove she was as unaffected as he. They made it down the rocky outcrop and Bellamy headed north, while Clarke doubled back along the base of the rock.

"Dammit, Clarke, if you're not trying to get yourself killed, then I don't know _what_ you think you're doing!" Bellamy thundered when he discovered she was not behind him.

"I'm saving your life!" she called back, leaning out from around a boulder and waving him over. He scrambled to her side, his heart pounding.

"Don't you disappear on me again, _Princess_," he growled dangerously. The moniker was a warning reminder to both of them that theirs was an antagonistic relationship. "I'm responsible for you out here, and I won't let your _stupidity_ be our downfall!"

Clarke felt disoriented by the harshness in his voice; what was his _problem_ with her? She had not asked for any of this, any more than he had. They were stuck down here on this planet for the foreseeable future. Clarke just wanted to ensure that the "foreseeable future" would be a safe and relatively uneventful one. Bellamy seemed to have no such grand vision, other than some hedonistic idea of freedom without limitations.

"Just stop with the bullshit, Bellamy. You are _not_ responsible for me, got it?" She turned to walk away, then called over her shoulder with a final dig. "Besides, I'm the one who actually _found_ some shelter."

The mammoth roots of an ancient sycamore had cracked through the rocky outcropping, creating a narrow passageway that widened as they approached the heart of the tree itself. Bellamy dug out some of his precious matches, and they used the scant light to give the hollow space a cursory examination. Clarke found a deserted rodent's nest, which meant something else had once considered this a safe place to hide. Bellamy swallowed a compliment. Now was not the time for kindheartedness.

"It's too damn small, Clarke." She looked around in doubt as his jaw clenched angrily.

"I'd say it's just the right size to keep us alive overnight," she shot back. _Good_. This, she knew. All this bickering was their comfort zone. Anything else was… off balance.

"You need to sleep. You're useless to me if you're a walking zombie. How will you get any rest in here?" Bellamy pressed on. He was determined to hate this plan. He had gotten too soft around her. Time to shape up, remind her of their roles. Clarke sighed in exasperation and turned away from him. She would have stalked off, but he was right; it was incredibly small. The crevice ran at least twelve feet back into the hill, but at its widest it was barely four feet across.

"Well, I'll agree with you about one thing," she declared. "I'm tired, and I'm going to sleep." With that, Clarke stretched out with her head toward the entrance, and shut her eyes against the frustration flowing off Bellamy Blake.

He stepped past her head and slipped to the front of the rock for a bit of air. Darkness was taking firm hold, and he was tempted to light a fire to chase away the shadows. Only fear of attracting Grounders kept him from doing so.

By the time he felt his way back inside, Clarke was nearly out. Bellamy reached into his bag for the blanket remnant and spread it over her gently. A sick healer was just as terrifying a prospect as an exhausted healer. He managed to sit down beside her, squeezing into the remaining sliver of open space and careful not to jostle her. In the darkness, he listened to her breathing settle, regulate. When he was sure she would be okay, Bellamy Blake leaned his head against the stone wall and wrapped his arms around his knees, waiting for what he knew would come next. He felt small here, and the crushing weight of the past two weeks slowly unfolded around him in the darkness:

...Chancellor Jaha's silhouette as Bellamy closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, condemning himself instantly to death... Charlotte, who's only real crime had been believing in Bellamy... the banished Murphy, no doubt a victim of the Grounders by now... Atom, poor, kind Atom, whose biggest mistake was caring for Octavia... that sickening light display as 320 bodies burned through the atmosphere. They all haunted him. Their faces, their voices, haunted him in every quiet moment.

Bellamy pushed his own face into his hands to stifle a groan. No matter what, Clarke needed to sleep tonight. It was her chance to recover from two weeks of unending physical torment. He had to be quiet. He could suffer through this; he'd been through much, much worse already.

A sudden change in Clarke's breathing dragged him out of his personal hell. There was a ragged quality now, an uneven hitch in her throat, and she moaned slightly. In the darkness, Bellamy ran his hands roughly through his hair and tried to ignore the effect that little sound had on him. She cried out softly again, and he finally realized she was having a nightmare.

Something in him snapped. Bellamy had been Octavia's father, mother, big brother every day for the past 17 years, only to be dramatically rejected by her three days ago. He had so much to give, and no outlet. Without really thinking it through, Bellamy felt for Clarke in the darkness; his fingers found her stomach, and he swallowed hard at the softness of the curves under her threadbare shirt.

"Clarke," he whispered, "You're having a nightmare." She thrashed out; in very real fear that she might break a hand on the narrow rock walls of this claustrophobic space, Bellamy pulled himself around her, pinning her arms and legs with his own. He thought back to Octavia's childhood, and his bag of tricks for when she cried out at night. A song rose from the depths of his memory, and he hummed it quietly now.

Bellamy relaxed slightly as Clarke settled. With her captured in his arms, his own ghosts stayed at bay. They were not gone; that was impossible. But at least they faded, blurred, gave him room to breathe. He finally succumbed to Clarke's warmth, her hypnotic breathing, and the dark safety of the crevice surrounding them.

...

Clarke awoke feeling comfortable, safe, and rested. She felt almost human again. A satisfied purr escaped her throat as she arched her back in one smooth feline motion, stretching the sleep out of her muscles. Halfway through the act, she froze; something was wrong. She was confined at the waist, unable to move. She twisted her head sideways, disoriented, trying to find the source. _Bellamy?_ His face was inches from hers, and she stifled a surprised yelp just in time. He was asleep. The fool had fallen asleep on top of her! Seriously - what was his damn _problem_? She began to extricate herself gingerly but paused, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows. This was the first chance Clarke had ever had to watch without being watched. Her artist's eyes took in the contours of his face at rest, the high cheekbones, boyish dimple, slender nose. His hair, originally combed straight back in the brutal fashion of the Ark guards, had long ago succumbed to the humidity of the forest. It was a mess of dark curls now, tempting her fingers… she shook herself and slipped out from under his weight, stumbling toward the grey dawn visible outside.

Once she had space and air, Clarke felt more in control of herself. She was being ridiculous. Trying to deny Bellamy Blake was attractive was dumb. _Falling_ for it, though, was not just dumb... It was insanity. She reached absentmindedly into a pocket and pulled out a nub of pencil, then her map. Her eyes went soft, unfocused, as she opened the map just enough to reveal the blank white reverse of a single panel.

As Clarke worked, she chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. The contrasts here were so different, so much less defined than those created by the unfiltered sunlight on the Ark. Shadows weren't just gray here – they had colors of their own. That was new. She wished desperately for more variety in her pencils. Oh, well. Packing an entire art kit on a scouting trip would have been wasteful, anyway. She had been very good so far, rationing out the colored pencils from the bomb shelter. She couldn't afford to run out.

Clarke hesitated at the eyes. Of course she could draw them, the terrifying darkness she had seen on more than one occasion when they fought – but now he was asleep. She opted to draw him as she'd seen him here. When she finished, she tilted her head to one side, examining the portrait critically. "Peter Pan," she announced to nobody, before slipping the map and pencil back into the pocket. Paper was a treasure down here. She had been so careful with that, too. After two weeks though, the back of the map was nearly full. A part of her wanted to find a sketchbook in Berryville, was willing to give up blankets or nails in exchange for a journal.

"How long have you been up?" Bellamy's already low voice was a thick gravel in the morning. She jumped despite herself, thankful the map and pencil were stowed away just in time.

"A few minutes. You almost suffocated me last night, by the way."

"What?" Bellamy looked genuinely confused at first, then guilty as the memory of the previous night came back to him. "No. Clarke - you were thrashing around, some nightmare or something. I didn't want you banging into the rock, getting hurt; we need those healer's hands of yours." Always logical. Always a legitimate reason to shelter her, crowd her, get in between her and danger.

_Fine._

"Okay then." Clarke stood up abruptly and pushed past him into the dark recesses of the crevice. She grabbed their bags, stuffed Bellamy's blanket back into his pack haphazardly, and tossed the mess to him as she took off down the slope.

"We're behind schedule. Come on." Clarke was hungry, but would never admit it - he had all the food in his pack, and she didn't need him. He needed her. She was going to make him see that today.

There was bound to be something edible on the way.

…

Bellamy sat on the crumbling stone wall while Clarke paced beside him.

"I don't blame you," he said softly, making her feel so much worse. "It was a good idea."

"No," she snapped, "It wasn't. You didn't even want to come here. I should have listened."

He sighed and looked around them. Berryville had probably once been a nice town, sitting on the valley floor between two mountain ranges. Time had not erased _all _traces of its past. But the Grounders had been through here, likely ages ago. There was nothing of value left to carry back to camp.

Bellamy shivered a bit at the change in temperature from mid-day. He had not yet adjusted to the natural rhythms of the Earth. The morning had started chilly, but by lunchtime he and Clarke both began to sweat. Now, as the sun pushed toward the west relentlessly, Bellamy adjusted his jacket against the cool breeze blowing through town. Clarke seemed impervious, though; she was still raging at their bad luck.

"Clarke. Clarke? Hey, Princess, stop!" Bellamy finally broke through to her. "We're going to start losing light again soon. We have to leave now if we want to make it back to camp before it's too dark to travel." Clarke looked at him thoughtfully, then swung her pack over her shoulder and jumped down onto the remains of a major street.

"You're half right," she said as she headed west, passing the last of the few buildings still standing.

Bellamy sighed in frustration and crossed his arms at her receding back. She was not being very cooperative today.

"That's the wrong way!" he finally called after her.

"Maybe for you!" she answered haughtily. "There's another town, about ten miles from here. I'm going to Winchester!"

Bellamy caught up to her instantly.

"No, Clarke." He _had_ to stop her. She was going to get herself killed.

"Yes, Bellamy. I can't go back empty-handed," she explained, not bothering to stop or even look at him. She waved him off. "You go back if you want. I can take care of myself."

"Really?" Bellamy grabbed her elbow and swung her around. There was a feverish defiance in her eyes that, despite his best intentions, he reacted to automatically. Man, could she get under his skin. "You'd die in _five minutes_ without me," he challenged her, squaring off for battle.

"I haven't needed you yet," she shot back. "I have the map. I have medical supplies and water. I found us shelter last night. _You_ need _me_."

He stepped back, surprised. Bellamy spent every waking minute proving he didn't need _anyone._ He took care of people. He cared for those who couldn't do it for themselves, for Aurora and Octavia - had done so since he was five years old. It had always been Bellamy against the world. It's all he knew how to do.

"Okay, so then you admit it," Clarke pushed at him. He sighed in frustration at her mulishness.

"Clarke, we _all_ need you. You're the only one that can fix people. That's too valuable to lose." It was the best he could offer her, and he could tell it wasn't enough.

She pressed her lips together and nodded slightly.

"I see." It hurt, being reduced to one dimension of her personality, and then being commoditized for it. She wanted him to suffer for those words, for refusing to value her as just Clarke Griffin.

She struck back blindly.

"Well Bellamy, if you'd stop getting our people hurt and killed, maybe I'd be a little less 'valuable' to you!"

It was worse than a slap across the face. She felt terrible as soon as she said it. She had gone too far this time. She wanted to take it back, but Bellamy's deep eyes shouted his hurt. He pulled away from her painfully.

He knew she was right; that was the problem. Every night the ghosts came back to him, reminding him that he was unfit for redemption. No matter what good he did each day, no matter how he tried to pay back their deaths, it would never be enough. His soul was already too dirty, and Clarke, standing before him with her selflessness, her thoughtful goodness, was an angel of justice. How could he ever admit the depth of his need for her? How could he explain having finally come to the realization that only _she_ could offer him absolution?

Clarke only knew she had to bring him back from whatever terrible place he was visiting. She reached for him, placing cool fingertips against his warm cheek.

This was another thing she didn't do: she never touched him. No smiles, no touching. There was one shocked moment as eyes widened, a recognition on both their parts that an important and oh-god-so-very-necessary line had been crossed, before he grabbed her to him hungrily.

The kiss was needy. It was too needy; he had to regain control, but her mouth was sweet and warm and soft, and worst of all it was welcoming. Her lips parted slightly, her heartbeat fluttered against his hand where it rested lightly on her throat. He hated himself. He shouldn't sully her, shouldn't allow his blackness to rub onto her…

Bellamy broke away, angry at himself for letting it get this far.

"No!" he growled in frustration.

...He pulled away angrily and she understood. Of course. This was not what he wanted, and Clarke had been foolish to believe otherwise. She was not tall, not slender, not a brunette. She was not his type, she was just the medic. And he would protect her for the sake of the others, put up with her stubbornness and temper because she could fix people.

"No," she whispered back through the chilly air. It was a promise. No more confusion. This trip had been a stupid, pointless nightmare. Clarke turned and continued her westward journey. She just wanted it all to be over.


	5. Chapter 5

_[A/N: Well, just WOW! A__ BIG thank you to all of you who are following - especially those who comment. The writers on here do it all for free, and we hate writing into the yawning abyss. We feed hungrily off each review. Please let us know what's on your mind!]_

_[A/N 2: This chapter really would not have been possible without Marina Black1, my most awesome and illustrious beta!]_

…

**"When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

Bellamy trudged behind Clarke as they pressed silently toward Winchester. Ten miles. If everything went well, they would just make it by dark. If anything went wrong… Out here, in the flat openness of this valley, Bellamy felt naked and vulnerable. The Ark had managed to dump them in the middle of a claustrophobic forest – an environment which, while terrifyingly foreign, had the single advantage of confining the teens just as the Ark itself had. They had been spared the shock of landing in this wide, open field, where the sky and the land merged seamlessly at the edges and nothing felt stable. Inside the forest, the proportions still felt recognizable. The metal pillars of the Ark had been replaced with stately pines, and the gray roof with a green canopy…

He worked his way closer to Clarke, eyeing the fields suspiciously. If something attacked them out here, there would be no escape. He would just have to fight, to protect her any way he could.

Bellamy sighed. He regretted every moment of the afternoon. He should have just agreed to go with her to Winchester. He should have known she would be too stubborn, that they would fight about it. He should never have challenged her independence like that. He should have told her… No. Not quite that. But he should have found a better way to talk to her. And since the topic of regret and "should haves" was on his mind, he also figured he should have done _everything_ differently when it came to Clarke. He should have listened more, yelled less, paid attention to her from the beginning, seen her as more than just the Princess; and he should have stopped the Spacewalker from claiming her. _Fuck Collins_, he thought bitterly.

He had saved Finn from the Grounder because that's just what he did, because every additional loss was another mark on his soul. But he had also saved the boy for _her_. He knew it with absolute certainty: as Jasper had reached down in panic to pull out the Grounder's knife, Bellamy hesitated. He could have just let Jasper do it. The Ark's guard corps cadets studied fighting techniques, and how to keep an injured guardsman alive until medical help arrived, but these kids didn't know that. He had stared at the dying teenager, and a sudden vision of Clarke's soft blue eyes had settled it. In the end, he would always choose her joy first.

Clarke could feel the heat of him, practically breathing down her neck as they picked their way across the broad valley floor. She was livid. It was the only word she knew that could name her feelings succinctly. She tripped over something in the tall grass and swore mightily. She hated Bellamy as much as she hated this stupid grass. All she wanted to do was curl up somewhere and cry. And then sleep. For years.

It turned out Bellamy Blake was _everything_ she had originally suspected. She hated that she had suckered herself into believing differently. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she swiped at her face impatiently. She knew she was tired, but, _honestly! Get a grip, Clarke!_

In hindsight, he had never shown an ounce of deeper personality; not a glimmer of humility. She thought back on the past two weeks not with regret, exactly, but perhaps a little guilt. All their previous interactions were tainted with a shadow of mistrust now. Her empty stomach curled with nausea. Even when he had saved her life, saved Finn's, tried to protect Charlotte… Even when he had warned her not to let the mob have Murphy. She trembled with uncertainty. When had she become gullible? She had believed them all: her mother, Chancellor Jaha, Wells, Finn, Bellamy. Clarke rubbed at her eyes, willing them to focus on the shaky horizon. What was wrong with her? Why did she keep placing her trust in the wrong people?

No. Scratch that. Why did she keep placing her trust in other people, period? It had not proven a very successful strategy so far.

As she raged, a tiny part of Clarke's brain started to worry. When had she last eaten? There had been nothing at all today. And yesterday? A light breakfast (every meal in camp was light; they were surviving, not thriving), and then… well, she had been too busy preparing for this trip. They hadn't stopped to eat last night. Her blood sugar was probably terribly low.

The medical intern in her flipped through a list of symptoms of hypoglycemia. Nausea was one... And what else?

...Why couldn't she think? _Alphabetically, Griffin!_ Clarke scolded herself, and it clicked. _Anxiety. Confusion. Difficulty following instructions. Mood swings and emotional liability. Tremors. Vision blurred. Aw, hell._

She had to stop. She would only get worse if she kept moving. Bellamy had been watching her erratic movements like a hawk, but maintained the silence she clearly wanted. She broke it first, as she sank onto the ground and rested her head in her hands.

"I need to eat," she whispered. The tears were threatening a return.

Bellamy knelt down beside her, and worry creased his forehead. She didn't like it. He looked older that way. She wanted to smooth those lines away with her fingers. Damn him.

"Where's your pack?" Bellamy demanded. She handed it to him wordlessly, and he dumped it out, spilling the contents between them.

"There's no food here." It was almost an accusation… But not quite.

"I was too busy to pack food. There's medical supplies, since that's what I'm here for." It very nearly sounded like a snide retort … But not quite.

Bellamy sat back and stared at her critically for a long time. What a strange non-fight they were now having.

"Foolish Princess," he finally murmured. Pulling his own bag open, Bellamy found a piece of venison and a container of nuts and handed them to Clarke. He watched her carefully as she ate, worried about the lack of color in her cheeks.

If he'd been paying better attention, he realized, he would not have let it get this far. She was sleep-deprived, she hadn't eaten for two days – it was a miracle she was able to sit upright. He made a mental note to check in with her more regularly. The only reason he hadn't been monitoring her since last week, frankly, was that notorious stubborn streak of hers. If she thought he was keeping tabs on her, the whole camp would have been subjected to the ensuing battle. He couldn't make that mistake anymore.

Bellamy stood, looking around them. This was a terrible place to stop. It was too exposed.

"I need the map."

"What? No." She would rather die than let him see the drawings that nearly filled the back. They were hers alone. Nobody else had seen them, not Wells or Finn or anyone.

"Clarke, I think there's water ahead. There will be trees, cover. Let me have the map."

"I won't give it to you, Bellamy."

"Give me the damn map!"

"I said, NO!" Clarke's eyes finally sparked again, briefly, and Bellamy stopped.

"Look, just… will _you_ check the map, then? I'm sure we're close to a river or a creek." She nodded wearily, grateful for his concession, and carefully opened the map on the ground for him to see, too. Their heads bent over the large square of paper.

"Opequon Creek. It's really close. Let me just rest a bit, okay, and then we can go," Clarke managed to say as she packed everything back into her bag. When she finished, her eyes drifted shut – _just a moment of rest_, they felt so dry and heavy - but Bellamy grabbed her boot roughly, shaking her.

"No, no, no - can't sleep yet, Princess. Let's get to the water, and then you can relax, I promise," he urged her. She hated him a little for being such a hardass, but she knew he was right. Clarke pushed herself to her feet and waited for a wave of dizziness to pass.

"Are you going to make it?" Bellamy asked her doubtfully. She glared at him then and pushed a stray lock of hair off her face.

"I'm fine, and feeling better by the minute." She paused, then added a quiet, "Thank you." Bellamy snorted.

"Don't thank me. That was the last of our food. From here on out, we starve together."

It was a glum prospect, and the mood was not helped by a light drizzle that stayed with them most of the way to the creek.

…

Two cold, hungry, wet figures arrived at the bank of the Opequon Creek a half hour later. As Clarke's color and energy returned, they had resumed their tense silence… until Clarke looked up at the trees along the banks of the creek. These were very different from the forest around the camp. Clarke wandered among the trunks, running her hand up the ribbed bark. She grabbed at a low-hanging branch of bright red leaves. She rubbed her fingers eagerly over the smooth cool forms, and grinned.

"Sugar maple!" she announced proudly, calling over her shoulder. "Bellamy, I'm sure these are sugar maples! That means we can tap them for syrup, and sugar, to help survive the wint – oh, _shit_."

He was maybe fifteen feet from her. He had whipped off his jacket and shirt and was standing at the water's edge with a thoughtful expression. At the site of his well-muscled torso Clarke's body betrayed her. Her stomach warmed with need, and she blushed and looked away, willing her legs to stop trembling and her heart rate to just… Slow… The Hell... _Down_.

Bellamy saw her reaction, and felt a smile form.

"Clarke, come here," he called out as if nothing had happened. He couldn't help toying with her a bit; he was so relieved to see her looking, feeling, sounding better.

"…Why?" She was examining the maple leaf in her hand as if it were the first leaf she – or anyone - had ever seen.

"I was thinking of trying to catch some fish. I could use your help." Clarke hesitated. Fresh fish sounded _amazing_. She blew a steadying breath out through tight lips and turned back to him, determined to move past the moment.

"You need to be naked to catch fish? I don't remember that lesson." Bellamy gave her that derisive look he'd perfected so early on, and shook his head slightly.

"No fishhooks? - I thought we could improvise a net." He held up his shirt with a grin.

Together, they waded into the freezing waters of the shallow creek and, after several failed attempts and some choice words, managed to catch what Clarke was halfway certain was a trout.

They built a small fire (Bellamy had misgivings; Clarke pointed out that they had no evidence Grounders were in this area), and Clarke insisted that Bellamy dry his shirt before they proceeded with dinner. It was her job to keep him healthy, she reminded him drily, and hypothermia was a real danger with night settling in. On a personal level, she _really_ needed him fully clothed.

After he had dressed and the trout was eagerly consumed, Bellamy leaned back against a nearby boulder to soak in the heat from the last of the coals. There was something universal about fire, he considered. The earliest men must have felt just as he had today – exposed, uncertain – until they mastered fire.

Clarke slipped down to the creek to wash up, and Bellamy enjoyed this short period of quiet solitude. Before Shumway and his lackeys had dragged Aurora and Octavia away, Bellamy had not know what it meant to be alone. He had ached for privacy back then. A year of gray, lonely, endless days later, though, Bellamy Blake was certain he'd had enough privacy for a lifetime. At first, in the joy of being reunited with Octavia, he had reveled in the sea of humanity that joined them on the drop-ship. He welcomed women to his bed nightly in that first heady rush of their arrival on Earth, because he desperately feared a return of that aching loneliness.

He had not counted on the cramped quarters and incessant _neediness_ of the 100. This little scouting trip of Clarke's was a reprieve from the others' helplessness. Clarke herself didn't count; she was as bombarded as he, most of the time, and probably needed this break from the masses just as much.

A strange new sound interrupted his reverie, and Bellamy felt his blood run cold with a primeval dread. It had been far enough away, whatever it was, but that could change. He listened with his whole body, and heard it again, this time definitely closer. It was somehow familiar, something he'd heard on the Ark. Maybe in a video from one of their classes…?

"Wolves!"

Bellamy was up and running before the next howl filled the air.


	6. Chapter 6

_[A/N: I hope you're all still interested in this piece, as I have become terribly obsessed with these two now… I barely feel like I'm writing it at all; it seems to have taken me over. ALSO: Marina Black1, thank you for your support on this piece, as always!]_

…

**"When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

At the creek, an oblivious Clarke shivered and hurried to re-dress. She had given Bellamy a hard time about hypothermia, but ignored her own advice because the thought of being actually clean was too tempting. She _had_, however, spread her rain-damp clothes on the creek bank to dry, so she could warm up again more quickly. Slipping into the frigid water, she used sand from the creek bed to scrub every inch of her skin. Actually washing her hair was impossible, but she steeled herself and dunked under quickly, wanting to rinse it out a bit at least. She came up gasping at the shock of the icy water on her scalp and face. That would have to do; time to get back to the warmth of the fire. She was almost dressed when a sudden ominous splashing in the dark caused her to whip around, grabbing her shirt from the ground and covering her chest protectively.

Bellamy appeared out of nowhere, running straight for Clarke; he hit her hard, not slowing as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her easily, running back up the bank in a determined silence that petrified her. He stopped only when he reached a large sycamore tree with broad branches.

Bellamy pushed her up into the first branch roughly, and even in the midst of her panic she felt that traitorous blush creeping up her neck again. Under his dark t-shirt, she could feel the flawlessness of his arms as they worked to lift her even higher. Two weeks on Earth had stripped him of any latent softness from his previous life on the Ark; this dangerous planet had turned Bellamy Blake into a masterpiece, chiseling each muscle into hard perfection.

Clarke tried to catch her breath as he kicked hard against the trunk of the tree for momentum, swinging high enough to drag himself the rest of the way onto the branch.

"Up," he urged her, pointing at a higher limb within reach. She complied, still confused, moving out along the bough so Bellamy could clamber up beside her; suddenly, a ghostly noise filtered to them from somewhere near the creek's edge. Adrenaline pumped into Clarke as she connected the dots. She stared at Bellamy's dark form leaning against the trunk beside her, silently willing him to say she was wrong.

"Are there supposed to be wolves around here?" Bellamy asked her instead.

"I- I- I don't know, honestly. I thought they lived north of here. But sugar maple shouldn't be common this far south either. I think we have to assume -" she stopped and closed her eyes against the next howl. It felt like it was in the tree with them.

Bellamy looked down, trying to see by the faint light of the moon and stars.

"They don't actually look like wolves, I think," he whispered uncertainly. Clarke risked a peek. He was right. The wolves she had seen in her classes were bigger, almost beautiful in a harsh way. Those things circling below them were a bit too small, and instead of a regal bearing, they just looked like mean little bastards. She conceded her opinion could be clouded by their current predicament, though.

"Wait – coyotes, maybe? They were more common around here," she suddenly recalled.

"Is that good or bad for us?" Bellamy asked her, himself unable to conjure up a single memory of them. He remembered the video on wolves, but this coyote thing was news. Clarke closed her eyes in thought.

"Mm… It's neither. They're just… different. Coyotes usually hunt smaller animals, like rabbits. I don't think they really go after people. But who knows, now? These are nuclear fallout coyotes, they could be nothing like the ones we studied."

Bellamy shifted uncomfortably on the branch as Clarke spoke.

"Uh-huh," he managed in a distracted tone. He coughed. "Um, Clarke, would you mind getting dressed?" She looked down in surprise at her shirt, still clenched in one fist, and then up at Bellamy and _she saw it_. Asked to define _it,_ Clarke would have failed utterly; but there was no more denying she had an affect on Bellamy Blake.

"What's wrong? I was thinking of making a net," she taunted him. He cringed at the reminder, and she smiled in private satisfaction as she pulled the shirt over her head. At least they were now back on more even footing.

Bellamy watched Clarke's movements, enjoying the play of moonlight across milky skin as she stretched her arms overhead. Even through her bra, he could see her breasts react to the evening chill. He sighed with a mix of relief and frustration when she finally pulled the hem down over her waist and shook her wet hair free of the collar. After a few tense minutes, Clarke cleared her throat and readjusted her position on the branch.

"You didn't grab any supplies while you were down there, did you?" Clarke asked Bellamy. He blinked away his own thoughts.

"Not even my jacket, why?"

"I'm worried we may be stuck up here for a while," she explained with a frown.

"Hey listen, I had other concerns at the time, like saving your ass!" Bellamy retorted, but his voice was mild. His heart wasn't really in it. "Did _you_ happen to grab any supplies?"

"You're lucky I grabbed my shirt," Clarke shot back, and Bellamy winced at the jab. He had walked into that one.

They sat in silence, periodically staring down at the animals wandering below. Clarke started to feel the exhaustion creep back in as her body rid itself of adrenaline, and she wondered if it was even possible to sleep in a tree. She shivered and twisted her damp hair into a messy bun with one free hand; she needed to get it off her neck, where it was pulling heat from her core. Tying it in place required two hands and Bellamy watched her closely as she balanced to finish the job.

"Tired?" he asked when she finished. She hesitated, and then nodded in admission.

"Cold?" She nodded again. "Okay… come here. Carefully." He straddled the wide branch and held out one steadying hand to Clarke, who inched closer until they were separated by little more than a heartbeat. He forced his breath to remain calm and even. With one arm slung around a nearby limb for balance, Bellamy very carefully grabbed Clarke's trembling knee.

"Just… trust me," he whispered hoarsely as he slid her leg around his waist, then reached out for the other knee. Once she was twined around him, Bellamy hitched his shirt up, exposing his warm bare skin, and Clarke sighed in grateful understanding. She reached for him gladly, curling into his body and pressing her cold hands against his hot stomach. He gasped at the icy touch.

"Damn, Princess, careful with those hands! You'll get us both killed if I let go!"

She didn't even care that his tone was rough. He was so warm. She hadn't realized how cold she was until he offered her this.

"Thank you," Clarke whispered up at him.

"Don't thank me, just sleep. I'll wake you when it's your turn," he smiled down at her teasingly. With his free arm wrapped protectively around her, he leaned against the tree, his mind as full of her as his arms. Clarke drifted off quickly.

At some point, the animals below must have found a new scent. There was a howl to the east somewhere, and the pack regrouped, barking and yipping as they set off after a more promising meal. He still didn't dare return to the ground. They could be back at any moment. He shifted slightly, and switched arms to maintain circulation. It was getting really cold now – his breath was visible, and he had to clench his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.

Clarke shifted, stirred, and Bellamy whispered to her soothingly.

"Shh, just sleep, Princess," he murmured. He pressed a tender kiss against the top of her head… and froze. That had been a dumb mistake. It reminded him of earlier that afternoon, when he had temporarily lost his grip on his self-control: the taste of her lips, her warm breath, her soft inviting body pressed against his. He closed his eyes on the memory. Being with him would be terrible for Clarke, he scolded himself. That hadn't changed. He would bring her down to his level, ruin her, and in the end she would only resent him for the pain he brought her.

Clarke stirred again, and Bellamy ran his hand gently along her backbone to comfort her. She arched slightly in response to the touch, and her hands traveled along the contours of his ribcage, sending fireworks through his body. A sharp silent intake of breath, a gentle squeeze; he thought he kept his reaction hidden. But when he looked down at her, two round blue eyes were gazing into his face.

"Clarke," he started, but his throat failed him. He shook his head and looked away from her, staring at a patch of silver moonlight on a nearby branch.

"I'm not good," he finally managed. Clarke's head tilted in surprise.

"That's usually my line," she whispered with a smile. Her words pulled his eyes back to hers.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "You know what I've done. You know more than anyone. I can't… I shouldn't…" he struggled to explain. "You're good, Clarke. I'm not. It's simple."

Clarke leaned back slightly, her hands sliding tantalizingly over his taut stomach. If only she would make this easier for him!

"Bellamy, don't put me on a pedestal. I have no idea what I'm doing down here, either. We're both just feeling our way through, okay?" He shook his head; she still didn't see him clearly, didn't see how far he had fallen.

"You _do_ know that I slept with someone else's boyfriend, right?" she added, genuinely confused. Bellamy hissed. As far as he was concerned, that was on Spacewalker's soul.

"But you didn't know that, did you? He was an asshole not to tell you." He frowned at her slightly. "I try to stay out of that, because, frankly, I don't want to know. Any of it. Octavia's... a little out of control these days. But just trust me, he's no good, either." He stopped there, before he got too carried away.

Clarke thought about his words for a long time.

"So, who is?" she finally asked.

"Who is what?"

"Who's good? Who _am_ I allowed to sleep with, King Bellamy?" Clarke clarified, her tone edging closer to the one she used when they fought. He tried to laugh it off.

"I'd say… no one?" She scowled at him then. "They're all a bunch of stupid kids, Clarke. They'll use you, hurt you, and then move on to someone else before you've even realized what happened."

"Look who's talking," Clarke countered. "You had your own personal harem before we even found a reliable water source!" She huffed jealously. Bellamy nodded, and leaned even closer to her.

"I think you've just proven my point," he murmured into her ear, breathing her in. He couldn't help himself. She was so… present, filling every one of his senses with her existence. His hand slid under her shirt at the waistline, riding the curve of her waist up to her ribs. His thumb traced along the fabric of her bra where it met her skin, and his head sank into her shoulder at his own weakness.

Clarke shivered deliciously under his touch, both from the cold of his skin and the sensation of his rough fingers against her sensitive flesh. She turned her head toward him slightly, her mouth close enough to kiss the back of his neck, and let the warmth of her breath, coming now in quick shallow pants of desire, cascade over him.

Bellamy groaned in response to her. He had to stop this, before she pushed him too far and he did something he couldn't undo.

"Clarke, please," he begged her as he straightened up, pulled his hand free of her skin miserably, and smoothed her shirt down over her waist with care. "It's not what you think. But until I deserve you…" he stopped with a heavy sigh.

Clarke pulled herself away too, freeing one hand to grab a nearby branch and letting the other fall to her thigh for the moment. Her fingers mourned the loss of contact with his skin.

She considered Bellamy's words carefully. There was so much more he wasn't saying; some day, perhaps, he'd feel comfortable enough to share it with her. Until then, Clarke realized with grief, he would insist on keeping her at arm's length.

"Will you let me know when you change your mind?" she asked him, reaching up to press her palm against his rough cheek. He smiled at her ruefully.

"You'll be the first to know, Clarke, believe me," Bellamy murmured with feverish conviction. Clarke stretched up and kissed him, a sweet gentle kiss full of hope, a kiss that stung deep inside his chest.

"That's so you owe me," she smiled against his lips sadly, before pulling away for the last time.


	7. Chapter 7

_[A/N: I hope you will continue to let me know your thoughts... these two are a little frustrating and prickly sometimes, which is fun to write, but I don't know if it works for the readers.:) Thanks again for reviewing!]_

**"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

By the time the gray of dawn frosted the sky to the east, Bellamy felt certain half his body was suffering from nerve damage. Clarke had eventually fallen back to sleep, gripping his chest as if she feared he would slip away in the night. He worried he might be the one to crack up today: his body was stiff and he could sense the exhaustion like a fuzzy blanket over his brain, but by far the greatest strain he felt was psychological.

"Clarke, are you awake?" he whispered, reaching up to stroke her cheek adoringly, painfully. To discover she felt something for him had only made his burden even harder to bear. He could now add "making Clarke suffer" to his soul's ledger book, which just seemed like a perfect little "fuck you" from the universe. It would have been better if she'd stayed away from him, fallen for the prickly exterior he had cultivated whenever he was around her.

Clarke stirred, frowned, and finally opened her eyes, shifting her weight slightly against him. Bellamy pulled his hand away from her face, a slice of guilt cutting across his features.

"I'm awake, but I'm not sure I want to be," she groaned. As parts of her came back to life, Clarke stretched carefully, mindful of the drop below. She eyed Bellamy, wondering what they were supposed to do now.

"So," she started, raising her eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Breakfast?" he responded quickly, jumping down to the lower branch and holding his hand out for her. She looked at it, and then helped herself down. Once they were on equal footing again, Clarke turned to face him.

"You can't do that," she announced. "You don't get to be the boyfriend, Bellamy, not like that." He pulled back slightly, and his eyes narrowed at her words.

"I'm not," he insisted.

"Yes, you are. You're treating me differently," Clarke insisted right back. She exhaled heavily through pursed lips, trying to find better words. "I don't have much patience for games, okay? You need time, and that's fine, take all the time you need - but _right now,_ I need clarity. I won't put up with just… half of you."

"Clarke. Please don't make this harder on us."

"_Me_?" Her eyes snapped at that. "I'm not the one making it difficult, Bellamy! Don't pin this on me." Her lips thinned in annoyance and she turned, swinging herself down to the ground.

Bellamy landed heavily beside her and tried to stretch life back into his muscles. Clarke felt guilty watching him; she knew he hadn't slept all night, for her sake, and she'd woken up fully intending to be grateful for his sacrifice, until he'd crossed the line by being both sweet _and_ aloof. _Ambiguity_. She wasn't happy with him right now, but still… she decided to find breakfast as a thank you. Clarke headed along the bank of the creek, looking for a promising meal, and smiled triumphantly when she stumbled on the remnants of an orchard. There were still some late apples clinging to the branches of a few withered old trees, and Clarke grabbed as many as she could carry in her arms.

When she returned to Bellamy, he refused to look her in the eye. She split the fruit evenly between their bags without a word, then stood up and held Bellamy's bag out to him impatiently.

"It's been two nights," Bellamy said quietly as he tightened the strap on his bag. "How do you think they're doing?" Clarke didn't have to ask to know what he really meant.

"Octavia loves you, Bellamy. You know, you _can_ care about someone and still be really pissed off at their very presence," she explained pointedly. "I'm sure Octavia's worried sick right now." She knew that shouldn't make him feel better, and also that he'd appreciate hearing it.

They forded the stream with relative ease, and scrambled up the steeper bank on the opposite side to discover more fields, misty in the dawn.

"Is that poison fog, or just regular fog?" Bellamy asked as they stared at the next leg of their journey.

"It's not yellow; more sort of silver. I think we're okay," Clarke pronounced, and set off into the moisture without hesitation.

"Clarke!" Bellamy cried in anguish, racing after her. He grabbed her shoulder roughly and she twisted back to him, a sarcastic comment already forming on her lips; his face was wreathed in torment. She stopped herself just in time.

"We need rules about some things," Bellamy declared when he had composed himself. The poison fog had taken Atom while Bellamy sat by helplessly. He already knew he wouldn't be strong enough to end Clarke's life, if it happened to her.

"First rule: Don't get yourself killed." He was aware of the irony, telling Clarke to stop and think carefully.

"Bellamy…" Clarke started.

"I'm serious." She looked into his eyes and believed him.

"Okay, then… Second rule?"

"Does there really need to be a second rule?" Bellamy asked her wearily. He turned and started through the mist, head bowed. Clarke watched the shape of his shoulders, the drag of his legs through the tall wet grass; he seemed like a broken man. Knowing what she now knew, Clarke was tempted to run to him, make him stop, make him kiss her the way they had kissed yesterday.

She wanted to heal the broken man, she realized, following behind him carefully. She noted as she walked that even now, he was going first, clearing a path through the long wet vegetation with his own body to make her trek easier and drier. How could he be so confused about who he was? He had told her he was no good; she disagreed, but had no way to articulate how she knew he was wrong.

Clarke suddenly recalled her hypoglycemic crash from yesterday; she flushed with guilt at the memory of how much she had blamed on him in that addled state.

Now she had two nights of relatively good sleep behind her, a belly full of apple, and the world _literally_ sparkled as the first rays of sun hit upon the dew clinging to every blade of grass. Under these circumstances, Clarke could be more balanced in her judgment of Bellamy. He had made plenty of mistakes, but his intentions had always been understandable. Even his theft of the radio was less a crime than a terrible, tragic misunderstanding. She had struck out at him blindly in the grief of the moment, needing to blame someone; she wished she could take back her accusations. It had been wrong to do that; no doubt, her words had stung.

As they traveled, Clarke became more enamored of this place. She held her hands out to her sides, allowing the soft, fringed tops of the grass to tickle her palms. The dew transformed into tiny liquid crystals as daylight struck, and microscopic rainbows peeked out at her from the edges of each perfect droplet. She called to Bellamy suddenly, and when he joined her she pointed at a spot a few feet off their trail. A spider had spun its web between two sturdy blades, and the dew glazed each strand, setting it on fire as it reflected the rays of the sun. She giggled, wanting to touch the tiny masterpiece, but Bellamy reached out for her wrist.

"Hands off, Princess," he chastised her softly. "Did _you_ build it? ...Then don't touch. The memory will last," he finished, releasing her and turning away.

A few minutes later, it was Bellamy who called to Clarke. She hurried up beside him and followed the line of his outstretched arm: on a distant rise, several horses grazed peacefully. She _had_ to draw them. And the spider web. She bit her lip, staring at Bellamy, wondering if she was ready for him to see… No, not quite. Not while he was such a closed book himself.

They continued the trek, reveling in the beauty of the simplest moments, their conversation growing less chilly with each new surprise, until they had achieved an easy, teasing camaraderie which was new, different, but not bad.

"Hey, I think we're here," Bellamy finally called to Clarke, who had become transfixed by the measured progress of a box turtle through the long grass.

"Really?" She rushed to his side, and looked down at the broken, twisted sheet of metal at his feet:

**[ . . . ches . . . M . dica . . . nter 2 Mi ]**

"Medical Center, Bellamy! - Do you think anything survived?" Clarke asked excitedly. She laughed in disbelief and grabbed Bellamy's arm, shining up at him gloriously. He was swept up in her infectious delight. Clarke should smile more, he decided. Smiling suited her, and he enjoyed being the one who caused it.

They set off with renewed enthusiasm, eating up the distance more quickly now that they had a realistic target. Within thirty minutes they were wandering amid rubble, searching for evidence of a basement. Bellamy found an elevator shaft in one section of the remains, and they searched for a staircase nearby but came up empty.

"Okay. I'll just go down the elevator shaft. No big deal," Bellamy decided.

Clarke looked at him, worry creasing her forehead.

"You don't know what's down there," she pointed out, "Or how deep it goes."

"Thank you, Clarke, that's very helpful," he noted with sarcasm. "But maybe we could be finding a way to get me down there, instead?" They searched for something – a rope, a board, _something_ - to help lower Bellamy, but came up empty-handed. The pair kneeled at the edge of the pit, frustrated by the tantalizing proximity of whatever might be down there.

"Bellamy…" Clarke said thoughtfully, quietly, "You're strong."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment." She smiled despite herself. "I mean you could lower me down there."

"Hell no." Bellamy's voice didn't rise in anger or frustration; it was just as calm as hers. It was the voice of reason, flat-out refusing to help her go on a suicide run into some underground tunnel.

"You know I'm right," she pointed out. He sighed, and rubbed his hands through his dark hair in exasperation at her. Why did she have to make everything so difficult? Clarke reached over and patted his knee reassuringly, then stood up with finality.

"Come on," she urged him. They peered over the edge into the darkness, searching for evidence of a doorway. Bellamy noticed it first, a change in the wall's contours directly below them. He managed to reach the lip of the doorway, but couldn't get enough leverage to pry it open even with a branch Clarke found, until she pressed her weight against his legs to provide a counter-balance.

"Clarke," Bellamy started, just before he prepared to lower her down, "Do you remember the rule?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Don't get myself killed."

"Good. And as for _your _rule…" Bellamy's hands wrapped around Clarke's wrists, and he pulled her close, leaning down to meet her lips with his own. He poured his fear for her into the kiss, and her blood pounded through her body in response to the intensity she felt in him. In the face of his very real terror, she kissed him back reassuringly, even though she had been the one to tell him this shouldn't happen.

He didn't want to let her go, but eventually she pulled back, panting, and he freed her then.

"Bellamy, that was _against_ the rules," she managed. He reached up and ran a thumb over her sharp chin, and smiled sadly at her. The problem with kissing Clarke Griffin, he was starting to realize, was that each kiss made him ache for another.

"Did you forget, Princess? I've never been very good at following the rules."


	8. Chapter 8

**"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

Years ago - long before Clarke's happy world was tipped sideways and given a life-tumbling snow-globe's shake by her own mother - Clarke and Wells used to sneak into her father's work station to play hide-and-seek. The ducts they accessed from here were fascinating and endless, and Wells knew them almost as well as Jake Griffin. The young explorers never got lost scrambling through the walls of their metal world. Well, almost never. When Clarke was about eight, she recalled now, she became obsessed with beating Wells at the game. She should have known it would be hard; his sense of direction was so well developed he reminded her of a tracking system. But that was the year she learned to climb. She found an access panel and went vertical, up through the floors of the Ark, thrilled that Wells would never find her.

And she had been more right than she expected. 4 hours later, after all her tears had been cried and she had begun to consider how long it would take an eight-year-old to starve to death, a metal panel just overhead had opened and Jake Griffin had leaned in, his face a mixture of panic, love, and relief. His words had been very serious and his voice carried that warning tone he used when disciplining his beloved daughter – but one look at his light eyes and Clarke had known it would be okay.

Wandering along this half-collapsed corridor, buried in the Earth, felt similarly disorienting and exhilarating - but her chin trembled for a moment at the realization that her father would not be there to rescue her if she got herself stuck this time. She was on her own down here, and she needed to keep her wits about her, or she'd end up lost forever in this dark maze. The torch Bellamy had fashioned for her would not last long.

"Clarke?" Bellamy's voice called for her anxiously from the elevator shaft. His was the harder task, really. For both of them, the first instinct was to wade into the action. Exploration came naturally; waiting behind always proved more difficult.

"I'm still alive, Bellamy!" she called back as patiently as she could. "I'm about to turn a corner; I won't be able to hear you soon!"

A door to Clarke's right looked promising; she opened it, only to discover a series of ancient machines that she assumed were for ultrasound. The next door led to a single bed with a large ring around one end; Clarke smiled at the MRI machine. It was like being in her own personal medical history museum, looking at artifacts that had not been touched in a century. She glanced at the far wall and her heart skipped a beat to see the row of closets. Maybe, if she were lucky, there would be some bedding for patients who were about to enter the MRI…

The first closet was depressingly empty. The second had pillows, which seemed pointless when they had much bigger concerns than comfort. The third closet held sheets, but they were not very thick… Clarke's thoughts slowed, paused, and she rewound her steps. She opened the second closet again. Pillows. Some stuffed with poly-fiber, others with down… and sheets… which could be sewn together… Clarke grabbed the pillows quickly, stuffing as many under her arms as she could, and dragged the dusty pile of white sheets behind her as she made her way back to the elevator shaft.

"Bellamy! Catch!" she called joyously, as the first pillow went hurtling through the air. A dozen more followed, and Clarke listened as Bellamy paced around above her, swearing like the workers on Jake Griffin's old work unit.

"I'm not hosting a fucking slumber party up here, Clarke, if that's what you're thinking!" he finally called down to her. Clarke laughed at his irritation.

"Fine; but when I'm sleeping under my nice down comforter in the middle of winter, you can't come crawling in with me for warmth!" she called back.

Her words crystallized in the air between them, and an image formed in both their minds. The silence that followed was one of complete mortification. Clarke, thankful Bellamy couldn't see her, leaned against a wall and burrowed her bright red face in her hands. She hadn't meant it like that; she winced and bit her lip, trying to decide what to do now. She looked around her, at the rest of the supplies she'd gathered so far. Under the circumstances, yelling up something like, "And I have bedsheets, too!" seemed entirely inappropriate.

"I'm going back to look for other supplies!" she finally announced, as neutrally as she could. This time she set off down a different hallway, looking for smaller items. The pillows and sheets would not be heavy, but they were bulky enough that she needed to be more efficient now.

The third door she opened led into a medical supplies paradise. This must have been a storage closet; shelf upon shelf of first aid equipment and kits were displayed before her. Clarke nodded in satisfaction and took a rough inventory, comparing it against her own wish list for the camp. She wanted suturing tools; she wouldn't be caught unprepared again, like she had been with Finn.

Finn. _Dammit._ She had managed to avoid thinking about him almost at all since they'd left the wall. She scooped supplies into an empty pillowcase and thought about how happy it had made her to _not_ think about Finn Collins for two days.

She hadn't really meant any of it to happen. She'd been on Earth a week. Everything was new and confusing, and she hadn't been prepared for the onslaught of charm that the Spacewalker threw her way. She liked him though, liked his easygoing nature and his obvious desire to please her.

She also really liked Raven. Raven was good, raw but good, and she needed Finn in a way that terrified and fascinated Clarke. Clarke had never needed somebody with that intensity, loved somebody with the wholeness of her being the way Raven loved Finn. Clarke Griffin would be just fine without Finn, and she made that clear to him. Raven obviously would not. Nobody with a heart could hurt Raven that way on purpose, and Clarke had considered it a closed conversation... except Finn refused to let it be closed. He picked at it, like a little boy with his first big knee scab, constantly re-opening the superficial wound, potentially making it worse.

Now that she was away from camp, Clarke wondered for the first time what people thought of her relationship with Finn. Apparently Octavia had been talking to Bellamy about it; Clarke vowed to quiz him later. If Finn had given people the false impression they were together, Clarke needed to remedy that immediately, for Raven's sake.

Clarke looked down and realized she had filled two pillowcases to the brim with supplies that were a century-old but still serviceable: she'd be able to set up a much better med bay now that she had suture kits, bandages, hypodermic needles, and basic surgical instruments. She headed to the back shelving unit, where several large bottles of hydrogen peroxide on the bottom had never been opened. They might not have decomposed fully. It was worth a try. She tucked some under her arms greedily, then paused as something on the next shelf over caught her eye. Were those really iodine crystals?!

Clarke examined her final stash and considered the value of these stuffed pillowcases on the black market of the Ark. It was like finding gold. Well. That didn't matter here; she just needed to get them to camp, for their people. Clarke paused for just a moment to admit that she had started thinking of the camp and its citizens as hers and Bellamy's, before moving back down the hall for the last time. This had been an amazing discovery, but the basement itself was just a little too creepy to count as fun.

At the elevator door, Clarke called up to Bellamy.

Silence.

Clarke pushed her racing heart back down her throat and shook her head. He must have wandered off to look for some other supplies. He'd be back soon. She sat to wait, her ears aching with the strain of listening for his footsteps, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against her thigh.

"Bellamy?" She tried again after a few minutes, then paused to listen. "Bellamy, please come back!" If he didn't come back, she'd be trapped here forever. Suddenly she was eight years old again, hugging her knees to her chest, wanting her father's arms to swallow her protectively. Clarke's panic was about to kick into full gear when she heard him, dragging something around overheard.

"Bellamy?" she called out one last time. He was at the grassy edge immediately, looking for her anxiously in the darkness.

"Clarke, are you okay?" he yelled down blindly. There was something in her voice he didn't like; her normal throatiness was tighter than usual, almost pained.

"Yeah, I'm fine! I just didn't know where you were!" she answered with relief as she stepped forward.

"Oh. I'm building a travois," he offered as explanation.

"A what?"

"A travois! It's a… Hm… it'll be easier to show you. Let's get you out of there first."

Using some of the new sheets as rope, Clarke passed her precious cargo up to Bellamy before herself climbing out. He tried not to let her see his reaction once she was back with him, but she smiled when she caught that familiar mixture of emotion in his eyes, an echo of her father's response upon finding his lost princess in the walls of the Ark.

"So, a travois, huh?" she asked him after they had gone through the supplies.

"Well, clearly we can't carry all this stuff by ourselves," he pointed out. He led her to a flat area of the ruins, where two long slender branches were lashed together at one end, forming a narrow triangle with the aid of several smaller supports. Bellamy had commandeered one of Clarke's pillowcases and torn it into strips to lash everything together. He held up the narrow end with one hand, and grinned at her with cocky satisfaction, waiting for her approving smile.

Clarke was impressed; it would make their trip back to camp much easier. They loaded their supplies and set off, Clarke staring back at the elevator shaft with a touch of longing. There was so much just sitting around, waiting for them to take advantage; if they could only get themselves out ahead for a while, stop surviving day-to-day and hand-to-mouth.

"Apple?" Bellamy interrupted her thoughts. She smiled gratefully and accepted the offering. As they headed back east, Clarke asked Bellamy how he knew about the travois.

"I guess it started with my mother," he answered after an uncomfortably long silence. He seemed to be struggling with the topic, and Clarke felt bad for bringing up something so sensitive.

"If you don't want to talk -"

"No, I should. I should talk about it, right?" He looked at her then, searching for the right answer.

"If you want," Clarke answered simply. He nodded.

"We loved history, my mom and me. Especially ancient Rome... but I would read anything I could get my hands on. The travois, for example," He gestured at the simple structure slung between the two of them. "It's from near here, actually – about a thousand years ago."

"Y'know, I never pegged you for a reader," Clarke mused. Bellamy pursed his lips and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Princess," he pointed out.

"I know. But I'd like to," she answered quietly.


	9. Chapter 9

_[A/N1: We are officially entering more "M" rated material.]_

_[A/N2: THIS CHAPTER IS __DEDICATED TO MY BETA, MARINA BLACK1, WHO IS AMAZING AND BRILLIANT_.]

**"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

The silence followed them for several minutes, and then Bellamy spoke again. Out here, both of them so small against the vast open sky, she was his only connection to humanity. And Bellamy had discovered he trusted Clarke - no matter what might happen.

"I was a good kid," he started. "When Octavia was born, I was so little, I didn't really understand how it would change everything for us, you know? I just… knew she was mine. I knew I had to keep her safe." Clarke nodded but kept quiet. Now that he was talking, she would not interrupt for the world.

"It's not easy to hide a small child. She didn't know she wasn't even supposed to exist, she couldn't understand that yet. When she got older it was hard for other reasons. She needed things like food and clothing. There was always something we needed. And my mom… she… did things. For important men, or even just ordinary men with special access. She did it to keep us alive." He stopped moving when he told her that, his eyes two dark orbs of pain.

"I wish I had stopped her, but I couldn't."

"Because of Octavia," Clarke whispered knowingly. He nodded, and swallowed hard, then started forward again.

"It's always been about keeping her alive, Clarke. It's the only thing I know how to do. I'm fuck-all useless for anything else." She shook her head at him.

"That's not true," she assured him. "You've saved us all, countless times." He snorted at that.

"I couldn't save Roma or John or the others, could I? And let's not forget, I'm the reason 320 people on the Ark are dead." A cloud of self-loathing suffused his face. Clarke's eyes widened in mortified comprehension.

"NO! Bellamy, no. This is all _my_ fault!" Clarke moaned. That shocked him.

"How's that?"

"The Ark… you don't own those deaths, Bellamy. You can't be responsible for any of it. Those people died because of the Council, and the Chancellor. But it was me, I yelled at you." She sighed. "It's just… when I realized our rockets hadn't worked, I needed someone to blame. That's all! I never even stopped to consider how it would hurt you." Clarke halted, forcing Bellamy to stop too.

"I am so sorry." Her apology confused and frustrated him. It felt like she was trying to rob him of his guilt; he had started to need those ghosts, to rely on them as part of his definition of himself, and he didn't like the way she wanted to rip them from him.

"Clarke, don't try to make me feel better," he warned her. "I know what I did; I know exactly who I am." He started moving again. "Listen. Can we just – I don't know, talk about something else?" Enough sharing for now; it was too painful. Clarke looked at him carefully, wanting to know more… No, he was right. She had pushed as far as he could take it for now.

"Sure," she murmured. They had plenty of time to get back to this topic."How about we decide what we're going to do for the night? We'll never get back to camp by dark," she pointed out. Bellamy nodded.

"I know, but if we avoid Berryville, and just cut a straight line back to the drop-ship, we can shave a couple miles off," he suggested. Clarke pursed her mouth and her eyes narrowed slightly as she considered his idea.

"Okay, but we'll still need somewhere to camp. I'd like to make it to the hills," she pointed out. The memory of last night's coyotes was too fresh in her mind.

"Sure thing, Princess," Bellamy agreed with a mock salute and a half-smile.

…

Once they were past the creek, the idea of food began to steal over them both. They were well to the south and east of the apple trees Clarke had found – and frankly, they had eaten a lot of apples already today. Bellamy suggested they split up but stay within shouting distance while they foraged for a quick meal. The sky had darkened since they set out, and both felt a chilly bite of something new in the air.

Clarke wandered south, her eye on the ground as she searched for roots and edible berries. She walked slowly as she gathered a small collection, trying to keep an ear out for Bellamy. After too much time spent hunched forward, she stopped for a quick stretch. She looked up for the first time since separating from Bellamy, and discovered she was at the top of a gentle rise in the field. Down the slope, unmistakable in the brilliant fall sunlight, was an ancient wooden barn, mostly still standing. It was a building. An actual building!

Clarke turned and called to Bellamy, her voice shrill with excitement, and then turned back to stare at the structure in disbelief.

Bellamy, at the base of the slope, heard her scream his name; the instinctive need to protect her, which had become a steady background hum to his daily activities, was unleashed in all its fury at the sound. He never should have left her! He raced to her side, pushing away dread, terrified of what he might find but readying for battle. When he found her, his cheeks flushed with adrenaline and his axe in one hand, she was alone. There were no obvious threats; he turned his frantic concern on Clarke herself.

"What happened, Clarke? What's wrong, are you hurt?" he demanded urgently, gruffly; he dropped the axe and rushed to examine her, certain there must be a wound she was hiding.

His hands moved quickly, thoroughly, seeking for clues through her clothes. Clarke's body betrayed her yet again, softening and warming under his rough touch. She closed her eyes and let him, because yes, she knew he should stop, knew this was the opposite of the clarity she had demanded of him, but everywhere his fingers touched, he lit her on fire and she had no defenses built up, no hard shell that could withstand the ache of her pulling toward the pain of him, and she knew she was falling harder than she had the right to fall.

"Bellamy," Clarke gasped against the onslaught of his frenzied attention. "Please," she finally moaned, and the yearning pitch of her voice woke him to the insanity of the moment, froze him in place - kneeling before her in the tall grass, his hands on the backs of her thighs.

He shook his head ruefully, and leaned his brow against the soft warmth of her stomach, embarrassed by his panicked reaction. She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.

"I just… there's a barn," she whispered hoarsely, scared to move, barely willing to breath. "It's… not far. We'd be safe."

"I thought you… Never mind. It doesn't matter." Bellamy sighed, his head still leaning against her.

"I hate this," he admitted after a long quiet moment. He pressed his face into a patch of bare skin peaking out just below her navel, and kissed gently. Clarke closed her eyes in pleasure. Her fingers found their way to his hair, twining themselves into his curls hungrily.

"I'm not stopping you," she panted despite herself, still torn open by the memory of his hands on her body. It was so hard to maintain that clear line she fought for, when the core of her being was reaching out for him with such heat.

Her words reminded him of their circumstances. He growled impatiently and pulled away, leaving in his place a sense of loss that Clarke tried – and failed - to ignore.

"No, but _I_ am. _I'm_ stopping me. We can't do this, Clarke," Bellamy tried to clarify. "I can't just… You were right before." He grabbed her hands, willing her to understand.

"Half of you would never be enough for me."

Clarke desperately wanted to smack him.

"I don't think this is working, whatever this plan of yours is," she pointed out, still trying to regain her breath. She felt like she'd been dragged from one end of Bellamy's emotional spectrum to the other, and just wanted equilibrium. "Maybe I wasn't clear. I don't have it in me to put up with too much more bullshit."

"I'll do better," he vowed, before turning on his heel and heading back to the travois.

…

The barn was standing, but barely. Centuries of weather had worn many of the boards down to narrow strips of wood, leaving gaping cracks through which sunlight – and almost anything else – entered easily. Still, it was the most protection they could find in this area and now that the clouds overhead were thicker and heavier, they agreed it would be better to ride out whatever the weather was sending.

The air whipped up, turned cold; colder than either of them had ever experienced. They searched the barn for a sheltered corner, really worried now. Bellamy discovered several stalls at one end of the structure, and they opted for the centermost of these small half-walled rooms. The ancient door was stuck in place, so he passed items over the top to Clarke. She commented that it was almost like being back in her cell on the Ark. Bellamy frowned at her; memories of the Ark were always dangerous fodder with her. He didn't trust her not to pry again.

"At least we have everything we need for your slumber party," she added sarcastically; at that, he cracked a smile.

"Hey now Princess, you lured me out here with the promise of weapons. Then you hit me in the face with a pillow," Bellamy explained as he pulled several of the offending items from their bundle and handed them to Clarke. He tried to pretend he wasn't affected by the sound of her laughter at his words.

"You know, this is not too bad," Bellamy commented as he wandered around the barn, exploring more generally now that they were safe. "Do you think everyone would fit in here for the winter?"

Clarke looked around.

"Yes. But we would kill each other within a week," she decided. There was no privacy here; even less than at camp. Other than the half-walls of the stalls on this end, the interior was completely open. "And the area around it is too unprotected." She looked at Bellamy and admitted, "It feels... wrong... to be out there for too long." Bellamy nodded in sympathy. He moved toward the door, wondering why the light had changed so much in the short time they had been here.

"When is sunset?" he asked absentmindedly over his shoulder. Clarke looked around finally, and noticed it, too… there was a flatness to the light that came in through the cracks in the walls. Hopping out of the stall, she joined Bellamy at the doorway and together they looked out… at snow.

…

Neither of them had ever_ really_ understood snow until now. They wandered about, fascinated, holding out their arms to watch as some flakes melted instantly against the skin of their hands, while others stayed delicately perched on their jackets, inviting inspection. The thin coating on the world deadened the edges of shapes and also sounds, which Bellamy felt someone should have told them in class. It was so palpable, the way the little sharpness nobody ever noticed was suddenly so obviously absent.

Clarke looked up at Bellamy as the snow fell lightly around them, and bit her lips to hide her smile.

"What?" he asked her, noticing the expression. His head cocked at her, curious.

"Your hair…" she laughed a little as he shook quickly, dislodging the snowflakes that had nestled there. With a smile of his own, Bellamy stepped toward Clarke and reached up to her temple, lightly brushing his fingers over her golden mane, melting the white crystals with his warm hands. She reached up and wrapped one hand warningly over his wrist; her eyes begged him to stop, and he pulled back slowly, knowing she was right. He cleared his throat.

"We don't have any food," he pointed out, looking back into the darkness of the barn. "And no way to build a fire in there without burning the whole place down."

"We've been cold and hungry before," Clarke said evenly. "I was able to find a bit; we won't starve." They headed back into the barn. Snow looked beautiful, but once it melted it was just freezing cold and wet.

The stall was warmer than being outside, but without a fire it was still cold enough that the partners started to worry. Clarke insisted on bringing all the bedding from the travois; she wasn't going to let those assets go to waste on a night like this. Together they lined one corner and then, wrapped in sheets, sat down to wait for the morning. Clarke pulled out the paltry collection of berries and edible plants she'd found earlier, and Bellamy found one last apple at the bottom of his bag. They ate the meager offerings, each wondering how long it would be before they could get back to the camp.

The silence stretched well past uncomfortable, into absurd.

"What do you think they're doing?" Clarke finally asked. Bellamy snorted and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"Miller has already killed the Grounder, I'd bet. He has a thing for Octavia, and Miller won't put up with that." Bellamy knew that Miller, like most of the men in camp, stayed away from his kid sister only because he had made it absolutely clear she was off-limits. If he hadn't come with her to Earth, Octavia would have been passed among those sick bastards like a piece of meat, until she wasn't Octavia anymore. Being a big brother meant you always knew _exactly_ what the boys were really thinking when they looked at your sister.

"Well that's depressing," Clarke said. "Let me try: Raven and Monty are trying to keep people from running around in the snow, naked, drunk on Monty's moonshine." Bellamy actually laughed at the image. Clarke liked the sound; like the smell of him, it banished fear. She felt warmer sitting near him, when he laughed like that.

"Okay. Jasper?" He challenged her.

"Jasper" Clarke snorted a laugh. "He's sweet isn't he? He's trying to find a girl to snuggle with in the dark, using that old 'we have to conserve body heat' line," Clarke tried.

Bellamy coughed lightly in the darkness next to her and Clarke slowly rolled her eyes shut, biting her lips together in embarrassment. How did she manage to do that, _every _time? It was like a curse.

"We can do better than this," he decided, standing up. "We need heat. Or at least light." He disappeared over the wall.

"Where are you going?" Clarke called after him.

"There's got to be something here we can use!" he answered. "It can't just be empty!"

Clarke sat back down, huddling into the sheets, listening to Bellamy bang and curse his way through the dark building.

After a while there was silence, and then a triumphant call. Bellamy returned carrying a small, aged metal canister, something that must have been used to store animal feed. He opened it triumphantly, and revealed several handfuls of straw stuffed inside. Clarke lit the makeshift fire pit, and coughed and sputtered through the smoke as Bellamy ripped a board from the wall of a neighboring stall, breaking it into manageable pieces to feed the fire. Once the wood had caught and the straw burnt off, the smoke cleared considerably.

"You know, this whole place could go up in a heartbeat if we're not careful," Clarke warned him, once they had settled back around the small flame.

"So I'll take first shift. You get some sleep," Bellamy suggested. Clarke shook her head at him.

"No, you didn't sleep at all last night," she reminded him, her mouth a thin line of stubborn determination. "It's your turn to sleep." Her eyes flashed, daring him to challenge her. He opened his mouth, but thought better of it.

"Stubborn Princess," he muttered instead, pulling as many layers of sheets around him as he could and curling up beside her. She might have been joking about Jasper's terrible pick-up lines, but Bellamy could feel that the temperature of the air around Clarke was several degrees warmer than the rest of the stall.

After a while, Clarke felt the silence and the loneliness starting to get to her. She needed to put her hands to use. It had been too long since she'd had the privacy to draw. She pulled the map and the pencil out, and spread the back open on the floor of the barn. Finding free space wasn't easy, but she was used to conserving her resources; the pencil began to whisper across the paper in rhythm with the dance of the firelight. She had meant to draw the spider web, the box turtle; the snow. But as her thoughts strayed to Bellamy's admission that he felt responsible for so much of the death that surrounded them, Clarke found herself responding. With her pencil, Clarke was able to tell Bellamy all the things she couldn't put into words: her own sins, for example. Wells' face appeared under her fingers, warm and loving, and blended into the next drawing, that of Charlotte. Poor Charlotte; it had been Clarke's fault, her tendency to speak before thinking, that had brought them all such pain that day. Tears started flowing down her cheeks as the pencil moved on of its own volition, scraping out the next face: Raven.

"Why her?" Bellamy's voice whispered from a foot away, and Clarke jumped in surprise at the interruption.

"Dammit Bellamy!" She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"So this is why nobody can have the map," he continued softly, as if he hadn't just given her a heart attack. "Clarke, I didn't know."

She looked at him, her heart beating quickly now, waiting for his judgment. This was the one thing she owned on Earth that belonged only to her, and no one else; she hadn't intended him to see, but there was no going back now. His hands – roughened by the work they'd accomplished down here, building a colony – passed lightly over the lines on the paper.

There was so much of Clarke here, he realized: it was a map of her soul, of stars and the moon and Abby and Jake and butterflies and great towering pines, and a single tiny leaf blown up large and explored in exquisite detail. It was Wells, over and over and over again, and Charlotte, shadowing Wells at every turn. Raven's face had started turning up more recently; Raven smiling, Raven betrayed, Raven lost. That must have been when Finn was on the operating room table. And then he found it, his face in sleep, down to the boyish freckles and long dark lashes.

He looked up at Clarke, at a loss for words. His heart exploded for her, and he reached out, no longer giving a shit about the stupid rules. He needed her, he needed Clarke in the way trees needed light and water and the earth.

Bellamy pulled her up, released the pencil from her hand, and laced his fingers into hers slowly, silently. Clarke watched their hands, her breathing uneven. _Fuck the consequences._ Bellamy leaned in to capture her mouth with his own, and she rose to meet him. Her lips parted eagerly, and Bellamy worked hard to stay in check, trying to keep his own reactions reasonably controlled. She pulled back and eyed him critically; he was holding back, she could tell, but wasn't sure why.

Clarke slid her hand out of Bellamy's grasp and reached for his shirt, pushing it up over his torso even as she kept his eyes focused on hers. Her hands were a small warm contrast to the chilly air of the barn, and Bellamy inhaled sharply, trying to steel himself against the temperature. She smiled at the reaction, and deftly slipped out of her own grey shirt and bra. Bellamy groaned at the sight of her, aching to take her now, to claim her as his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, searching for her mouth again. His lips slid down her throat, across her chest, and he kissed a path of warmth across her chilly skin.

She pulled away far too soon, and in turn bent to plant a warm kiss against his throat, his collarbone, his chest, his stomach… at the same time, Clarke's hands explored the rest of him in wonder. How had she _missed_ this for so long? This was where she needed to be, had always been where she needed to be, and she regretted every previous lost opportunity.

They fell back into the makeshift bed in the corner of the stall, shivering slightly now against the cool air outside. Bellamy reached down, unbuttoning her pants and exposing the delicate skin at her hips. His fingers traced the circumference of her waist, teasing her, and she whimpered impatiently. It was all the motivation Bellamy needed; the rest of their clothes gathered in a pile near their shirts. Clarke pushed Bellamy down, onto his back. She smiled with anticipation as she slid one leg up and over his waist, centering herself over him; her eyes sought his, and she begged him wordlessly to complete what he had started. With his hands on her soft perfect hips, Bellamy entered her carefully, gauging her reaction for any sign that he'd hurt her. Instead, she arched back in pleasure as he filled her, and bit her lip to stifle a cry. Bellamy reached up then, cupping her full breasts in his hands; they fit perfectly, he noted in wonder. He gazed at the beauty of her, mesmerized by her reactions to him, and delighted in exploring all the little ways he could bring her pleasure. One hand migrated to her stomach, the other her hip, as the couple moved toward shared ecstasy. Together, they got lost in the delight of each other, and fell through the world as one body.


	10. Chapter 10

_[A/N: __Please take a moment to check out "Hurt" by my Beta, Marina Black1. She just posted her own Chapter 10, and it's SO incredible it… well, it hurts. PLEASE GO__.__]_

...

**"****Your children are not your children.  
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself." **

**~ Khalil Gibran**

It was cold. Clarke curled into a ball, trying to trap the last bit of her own heat, to sleep a few more minutes. In the end, though, the cold won. An arm snaked out of the covers and searched for the nearby pile of clothing. The garments were equally frigid; she pulled random items into the cocoon she had created under the layers of sheets, warming them with her own skin for a few minutes before fumbling to slip into her underwear and shirt. She finally poked her head up, looking around groggily at the empty stall in the grey, early morning non-light. She watched her breath curl out and disappear into the quiet, and then cocked her head as the emptiness finally struck her.

_Bellamy_. Gone, and it wasn't even daylight. She knew better than to be surprised. He was so damn skittish; she had kind of assumed this would happen.

She steeled herself against the cold and stood, about to step into a freezing pair of pants.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy's voice called to her from near the barn door. She looked up in surprise.

"I thought you were gone," she admitted before she could stop herself. Bellamy frowned at her, and held up a rabbit in one hand.

"No… I wanted to bring you breakfast." Clarke's face reddened; he had tried to do something nice, and she had made the worst assumption.

"Hey, Princess," Bellamy assured her, "I'm not going anywhere." He crossed the barn quickly, and with his free hand reached for her cheek, rubbing his thumb along the line of her jaw. Even being gone this long had hurt him. He stared at her mouth, watching the corners curl up in response to his touch. It was too much for him to bear. His hand moved to the back of her neck, tangling itself hopelessly in the mess of blond hair, and he leaned over the low wall separating them, pulling her into a kiss that was just as hungry this morning as those from last night had been.

"I'm sorry," Clarke whispered against his lips, "I wasn't sure." Bellamy smiled back against her; he couldn't let go yet. She was too delicious. Finally, Clarke pulled away.

"I heard a rumor about breakfast," she hinted.

"Right." Bellamy remembered himself. He jumped the wall, and dressed the rabbit while Clarke resuscitated the small fire in their makeshift fire pit. It had been an elderly creature; the meat was tough, but to Clarke it was perfect. She felt better almost immediately, warmer and stronger as they both cleaned up after the meal. She leaned forward to thank Bellamy with a quick kiss, and then stood to finish dressing. He grabbed her ankle from his seat on the floor, and looked up at her playfully.

"What are you doing?" he asked again.

"I'm getting dressed, Bellamy. I thought it was obvious." As she spoke, Bellamy's hand slid up her calf, stopping briefly at her knee as he shifted, turning to face her fully. His face took on a thoughtful expression as he continued to stare up into her blue eyes.

"No, I don't think so," he finally said, all seriousness. Both hands now grasped the backs of her legs, and they rubbed slowly, lightly, enticingly upward. Bellamy's fingers spread out, pressing into the bones at her hips, his thumbs pushing the hem of her shirt up to reveal the white softness of skin below her navel. It reminded him of that frantic moment yesterday afternoon, when he had been certain Clarke was in danger. Here, though, she was safe, and she was his. He kissed her stomach lightly, and felt her hips shiver under his hands.

This was all Bellamy could ask for: Clarke, perfect and loving and trembling with need for him. He was still certain, even in this moment, that he didn't deserve her - but now he was determined to make himself worthy, to spend the rest of his life earning back their first night together; and then he would gladly start over, earning his right to love her a second time, and a third. He would take the endless debt onto his soul, for as long as she let him.

His fingers slid between the thin fabric and her waist, and he gently stripped her naked; his mouth devoured her freshly exposed skin, and Clarke's body melted into his hands in surrender. He laid her out tenderly, his fingers brushing over her thighs, her stomach, her arms and collarbone, pulling her out of herself with each tender caress. When Bellamy covered one of her round breasts with hot kisses, she nearly exploded with the exquisite torture of his mouth. She felt the tension through her whole body, thrumming at such a high pitch that she worried she wouldn't survive if he didn't take her immediately. She reached for him, pulling his face toward hers, and in a gentle whisper she begged for him. Bellamy smiled mischievously, and kissed the tender skin over her throat as his hands settled over her lower belly, warming her. She whimpered in frustration, her body writhing, and moaned his name, this time with pure need. His own restraint shattered at the sound of her throaty voice singing out to him. When he finally filled her, she sighed with satisfaction, and then gasped in shock as he slid his hands behind her waist, pulling her hips up and forward ever so slightly - and eternally changing the meaning of the word bliss for Clarke. She bit her lips hard to keep from vocalizing her aching need to stay with him, like this, forever. Bellamy watched her body respond to his – her blonde hair like sunbeams radiating from her beautifully flushed face, her stomach tight with heat, her ribcage rising and falling with each ragged breath – and as he moved to the edge of sanity and then well past it, he dragged her along with him. Through the haze of his own pleasure, he felt her hips quake and heard her scream out his name, sending it like a prayer up to the rafters of the cold barn.

…

A day's hard hike from them, Octavia sat on a low pallet and watched Lincoln as he stretched to hang a thick pelt across a drafty wall. His naked flesh rippled and glowed in the light from a huge fire. The stones of the hearth were hot to the touch and Octavia herself glistened with a light sheen of sweat. This corner of Lincoln's cave was nearly tropical, a result of his concern for her comfort; they were naked as much out of need as desire.

Last night had been… breathtaking. Octavia had waited until Monroe was flirting with Miller after dinner – a new hobby of hers, which Bellamy _would_ have heard about as soon as he got home, if only she were still talking to that jackass – and then slipped away. It had been so easy, really. Once she was past the Wall, it was pretty much smooth sailing. The hardest part had been remembering the way back to Lincoln's cave, so it was pretty lucky for her that she was still clumsy and loud in the forest. Lincoln had found _her_ quite easily, and greeted her with a kiss that left her dizzy. He still wasn't a big talker, but Octavia was okay with that. Bellamy always talked too much; it was nice to be around Lincoln and his silence. Even though she usually ended up filling it herself.

But last night there had been little need for words. They had been apart for too long. When they found each other again, in the middle of the first snow Octavia had ever known, they hadn't even made it inside. Lincoln had taken her right there, in the middle of the snowy forest, and the sharp contrast between the heat of his skin and the cold wet ground had knocked the wind right out of her. Quite literally... breathtaking.

After, Lincoln had felt so guilty; he picked her up, carrying her back to his cave, where he built a large fire and cocooned them in a den of thick animal hides to trap the heat. They spent the rest of the evening making love - until finally they were both too worn out, and they fell asleep wrapped around each other.

Now it was some time in the morning – Octavia didn't really care exactly what time, so long as she could be with him. While she loved staring at Lincoln's perfect form, she also missed the physical contact of him. She called his name softly, luring him back to her side; the whisper slid over Lincoln's skin sensuously, and he smiled as he turned back to Octavia swiftly, bending to gather this perfect creature up and kiss her. He had found her, he had claimed her, and now she was his; the joy of that knowledge nearly overwhelmed the naturally solitary warrior.

Octavia ran her fingers lightly over his chest as he held her.

"I think you were making me a promise earlier," she reminded him. Lincoln didn't bother to speak; she was right, of course. He had a promise to keep. He carried her easily to a stone shelf against the opposite wall, and set her down on a soft rabbit skin that covered the surface. Lincoln grabbed her thighs as he leaned forward, kissing her ardently; without letting go of her mouth, his hands spread her legs open easily. Octavia shivered in anticipation; Lincoln wasn't her first, but he was the first to show her all that her body was capable of feeling. As he joined with her, Lincoln's fingers dug into the hot flesh of her inner thighs and she bit his lip in retaliation, smiling happily against him. She arched back as his hips pressed into hers, and her fingers clawed at the skin on his shoulders, silently willing him to go further, to take her higher. They were truly well-paired, he realized as he pushed up against the core of her, driving her into wild abandon. When her pleasure had reached its peak, and she was certain she could go no further, Lincoln nudged her over the edge and she collapsed against him, her body wracked by the waves of white heat that pulsed from her center. Her pleasure was his release too, and he leaned over her, spent, and murmured her name back to her, a love song as simple and strong as the rocks themselves: "Octavia".

…

Raven slipped into the med bay before the grey of dawn had fully lifted, to check on Finn's bandages. She was certain he would still be asleep, so when his fingers wrapped around hers just as she was about to lift his covers, she swore lightly.

"Damn, Finn! You scared me," she admitted with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"They're still not back?" he asked in a quiet, worried voice.

"No," Raven answered him simply. She turned away to retrieve a clean bandage, not eager to show him how much his concern for Bellamy and Clarke – _aw fuck it, let's be honest, Finn didn't give a rat's ass about Bellamy_ – hurt her. She composed herself and turned back to her task. "It's only the third day. They might just be traveling slowly, especially if they're bringing back supplies."

"Or they were attacked," Finn countered. Raven sighed.

"Or they were attacked," she answered him. "In either case, is there something you think you can do to help?"

Finn laughed weakly, knowing Raven's limit.

"You win," he admitted. He looked up at her with large, soulful eyes, and whispered, "You'll always win, Raven." He searched her face, hoping she understood his meaning. He was gratified to see her eyes soften, her ready smile return. She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the nose.

"Yeah, I know," she teased him. "You're all I have, Finn Collins. And down here, I'm all you have too." She reached up and brushed a lock of brown hair off his forehead, a move she had done so many times that it was no longer even a conscious thought. This time, though, Finn grabbed her hand again, and pulled it over his mouth, where he placed a gentle kiss on her fingertips. She cocked her head in pleased surprise. When he pulled her down over him, though, and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, Raven had to intervene.

"You're still on bed rest, Finn," she cautioned him. "Doctor's orders." Finn pretended to think about that.

"Which doctor?" he finally asked. "The one off gallivanting in the woods with a psychopath, or the one orbiting miles above us in a giant metal coffin? Because both of them are noticeably absent right now. I think that means I get to make up my own rules about bed rest." A grin spread slowly over Raven's face as she considered his suggestion. It had been a very, _very_ long time.

"Well, I guess until we hear differently, I would say you at least have to stay _in_ bed," she conceded, slowly ridding herself of her garments and climbing up to straddle Finn.

"Is that an order?" Finn asked with a gleam in his eye.

"Mmmm," Raven responded as Finn's hands moved over her flesh, remembering her. She smiled confidently as she undressed her patient; it didn't matter what had happened back when he thought they'd never see each other again. She was here now, they were together again, and she knew Finn better than anyone else. She would help him forget Clarke Griffin, and the first step was to remind Finn Collins of just what _her_ body could do for him.

…

Clarke ran one hand through Bellamy's soft curls and smiled down at him indulgently as he clutched her to his chest, trying to convince her to stay naked. It was becoming increasingly difficult to justify his position. The sky had lightened considerably, and there were several types of birds flying around the upper reaches of the barn, chattering angrily to each other as they came and went through the spaces between the boards.

She traced the small scar that cut through his upper lip, and then bent forward to kiss it lightly.

"Any story behind that?" she asked him. In response, he stretched up, kissing the mole that sat in the same place above her lip, and smiled at her.

"I don't know. Any story behind that?" She giggled.

"All right, no more prying; I can take the hint. But we're definitely not going to get back to camp at this rate," she reminded him, sobering up quickly. Before he could protest again, she slipped away and dressed, then threw his clothes in a pile beside his head. "Let's go. We still have to find out if Jasper's pick-up line actually worked," she smirked. Bellamy sighed and slipped into his clothing.

"Yes, by all means, honey, we have to get back to the kids," he muttered. The thought of their imminent return to reality was sending Bellamy back into a grey temper. Clarke reached for him, and her hand on his forearm served as a steadying point in his universe.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"I'll be fine," he said. Which wasn't really an answer. Clarke sighed in frustration and waited.

"Is this what it's going to be like, when we get back?" She finally asked him. "You're just going to be solitary King Bellamy again, and shut me out?"

"No, Clarke, of course not!" he responded gruffly.

"You're doing it already," she challenged him. She studied his face, looking for some clue as to what was going on behind those dark, shrouded eyes.

"You still think it's all on you, don't you?" she finally realized. His flinch was all the confirmation she needed. "That's not fair. I have demons, too, Bellamy; we all do. You can't claim sole ownership on guilt!" Bellamy tried to wrap his mind around what Clarke had to feel guilty about, and recalled her drawings of the night before; he grabbed her hand.

"Clarke, if this is about Wells' death, and… and Charlotte… I'm the reason they're dead, not you. Their lives are on _me_." His brow knit together in frustration. Why did she keep trying to take away all his guilt, assign it to others?

"No, it's not just them, it's Raven too, and the Grounder... But you're wrong about Charlotte and Wells - it _was_ me. The only thing Wells did was care for me, and I hated him for something that wasn't even his fault! He came down here for me - to protect me - and he was killed for it. His death was my fault," she confessed, and Bellamy realized hot tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks silently. His chest tightened in pain to see her like that. He pulled her face up to his, kissing away the salty moisture as she continued. "And oh, God, Charlotte – Bellamy, I never should have thrown Murphy to the mob! Why didn't I just listen to you? You were right, and I was just so arrogant and stupid -" her voice cracked and faded. The morning had been going so well, and now, suddenly, she was being ripped open by Bellamy's guilt, forced to examine her own actions and come to terms with her own mistakes.

"Hey, Princess, shhh, stop, please," Bellamy begged her now, holding her as the tears streamed even more freely. She was always so strong; he had never seen the emotional burden under which she suffered, too.

He waited, letting her break down in his strong arms, running his hands over her back soothingly. Eventually he felt the rhythm of her breathing change, settle, and knew from experience that she was calming now. She pulled herself together with a little shake and wiped at her red face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to…"

"Nah, hey, it's not the first time I've been a shoulder to cry on." He tilted her face up to his. "I consider it an honor, Princess. Really." He wanted to kiss her again. Hell, he always wanted to kiss her… But she still seemed preoccupied.

"I just can't see it, Bellamy," she continued, leaning her head against his shoulder once again. "I can't find the bad in you. Mistakes, hell yes... But nothing worse than my own. In fact, maybe better."

Bellamy laughed quietly in disbelief. "You're the best of us, Clarke," he assured her. He tried to help her understand. "You told me once that what we do down here to survive… that it's what defines us."

"Yes?" Clarke vaguely remembered the conversation.

"So if I'm defined by what I've done here… then who am I, Clarke?" His question was terrifying in its raw fear. Bellamy had an idea of who he wanted to be, of the kind of leader he had been raised to believe he could be… But it was all so much messier down here. Now, in the wake of actions he had never thought he would be capable of, he found himself lost. He felt as though his moral compass had broken on impact with Earth.

"Bellamy, you're the man who always thinks of Octavia first, and himself second. You're the man who is willing to do whatever it takes to help others, no matter what that means for your own safety... You're the man who gave up his life for his sister, without a second thought." Clarke stared at him and wished she could show him what he looked like through her eyes. Instead she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled herself up to him, hoping she could kiss away his self-doubt and replace it with her confidence that he was capable of so much more.

… ... ...

**_[P.S. -_****_Please_****_ don't write to eagerly point out the Grounder is suddenly free in Chapter 10, when we didn't hear about it before. Chapter 11 is coming!]_**


	11. Chapter 11

_[A/N: Please continue to comment and review - it's so validating to hear what people think! And hey... the more we hear back, the more us writers are inclined to keep feeding the beast!]_

_[A/N2: Please __take a moment to check out the work of my Beta, Marina Black1, because she's awesome and her stories will rip out your heart and make you enjoy every minute of the process. Trust me!]_

**"Your children are not your children.  
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

Leaving the barn wasn't fun for either of them. It felt like a magic place, where time had stopped and the real world had left them alone for a while. But there were 90 anxious teenagers waiting for them, so with a certain heaviness to their gait Clarke and Bellamy set off for the drop-ship. As they approached the tree line – a natural break that signaled the last leg of their journey and a grueling uphill slog – Bellamy sighed moodily. Clarke stopped.

"Alright, something's clearly wrong, Bellamy. Just - talk to me." He refused to look directly at her initially, instead staring ahead at the forestas the muscle under his cheek worked, signaling to Clarke that he was clenching his jaw in an effort at self-control.

"It's Spacewalker," he finally confessed when he felt ready to speak without yelling.

"Oh," Clarke whispered in understanding. "Because I slept with him?"

"Oh, God," his voice came out a pained laugh and he stared up at the heavens, "Stop talking, Clarke."

"That's such a double standard. You had sex before we were together. You had a _lot_ of sex before we were together," she said pointedly. "I'm pretty sure you've slept with half the girls in camp," she added, and a note of jealousy snuck in at the end.

"Not that many," he assured her.

"Not my _point_," she countered. "My point is, yes I slept with Finn, but it -" He spun toward her and his voice shook with anger now.

"I swear to you, Clarke, if you say it one more time, I _will_ kill him." Clarke stepped back, surprised by the intensity of his reaction.

"Why does he get to you so much? What's your problem with him, exactly? Because I feel like it's more personal than you're sharing," Clarke prodded. Bellamy laughed bitterly.

"My problem is he's a fucking _killer_, Clarke. And worse than me, because he knew precisely what he was doing, and did it anyway – for fun. I shot Jaha because I had no choice! It was an order, Clarke. If I refused, Commander Shumway would have killed me, and Octavia _still_ would have been sent down on the drop-ship, alone." Bellamy's cheeks were coloring as he warmed to the topic. He had held in his true feelings about Finn Collins for far too long; it was time someone understood.

"The Spacewalker stole a _month of life_ from the Ark, just so he could go play outside. And it wasn't all an innocent joke, either. Raven admitted he did it all the time. It was his escape, whenever his responsibilities on the Ark got to be too much. That's how he racked up so much extra oxygen use. And in case you've forgotten? Two of the bodies in our cemetery belong to those kids who unbuckled with him, inside the drop-ship. He doesn't seem to lose much sleep over their loss, though, does he?" Bellamy stopped, and tried to calm down a little. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down. "But you know what? It's okay. He's funny, and charming, and hell, he has great hair, right? So… even when he turns out to be a cheating bastard, everyone's willing to overlook that, too!"

Clarke's skin tingled with dread at Bellamy's revelation. She felt nauseated thinking of the torment she had subjected Bellamy to, placing the deaths of so many on his shoulders; she had heard the others talk about Finn's imprisonment, but she had never put the numbers together the way Bellamy had. Of course he hated Finn Collins; their crimes were not even comparable, nor their motivations, and yet Bellamy was seen as the terrible monster and Finn was heralded as basically a good guy - with an endearing rebellious streak.

"I didn't know," Clarke whispered, her heart breaking as she watched the frustration and resentment battle across Bellamy's features. "I feel sick, Bellamy. I'm sorry." She reached up for him but he pulled back, shaking his head slightly at her. He needed a moment.

"Just.. I don't know what I'll do, Clarke, if you go running straight back to his bed. Fair warning." His fists bunched at his sides unconsciously, preparing for battle.

Clarke's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of relationship do you think I _have_ with Finn?" she asked him bluntly. Bellamy stared at her in disbelief.

"Kind of a twisted one, frankly," he answered.

"No, Bellamy; I have _no _relationship with Finn. We met two weeks ago, shared one stupid night, and that's it. Raven arrived the next day. They've known each other forever. I don't have any special connection to him, and no interest in more. Besides, I would never do that to Raven. I've already hurt her enough." Now it was Clarke's turn to struggle against her emotions; her guilt at accidentally taking something that belonged to another, her inability to heal the pain of that deep wound, and Finn's stubborn insistence that maybe there was more to be explored between them… Bellamy watched it all play across her face like a movie. He was silent as he processed her claims.

"Octavia is in for a world of trouble," he whispered dangerously. "This gossiping of hers has to stop. She could get someone killed." And by someone, Bellamy clearly meant Finn Collins. Clarke cracked a half smile at that. This time when she reached for him, Bellamy stepped in to her touch. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and rose onto tiptoes, pressing her mouth against his in comfort; her lips were soft and inviting, and Bellamy had no choice but to give in to her. Clarke grabbed his lower lip, scraping her teeth lightly against the sensitive pink border where it met the roughness of his unshaven chin, and he growled his need for her. She felt her heart kick up in anticipation at the sound. His hands moved to her waistband, ready to slide her out of her clothes yet again –

"Hey I found them!" a triumphant cry sounded from somewhere in the woods, and the couple froze, frustrated at the intrusion. Clarke took a half-step back, and Bellamy leaned his forehead against hers briefly, his eyes closed as he made the transition from lover to leader.

"This isn't over, Princess," he promised her in a low rumble before straightening up and placing a kiss on the crown of her head. Together they moved toward the voice, waving their hands blindly at whoever had interrupted their last private moment.

…

The scouts that had been sent to look for Clarke and Bellamy were now streaming back in dejected pairs, to report on their lack of success. Monty had been clear: no more reckless trips. Every pair had a defined route, and had to check back on a strict schedule. So when Jasper and his partner Claire, a particularly sure-footed runner, didn't check in on time, everyone in the camp went on high alert immediately. Raven moved most of the teens into the drop-ship, leaving only proven fighters to monitor the Wall. She and Finn waited with bated breath, sure they would hear the sounds of a Grounder attack at any moment.

"They're back! They're back! They have Bellamy and Clarke!" The shouts surprised the tense crowd, and everyone let out whoops and hollers as they poured back out of the ship and rushed to open the gate, ushering in their returned leaders and fawning over the new supplies. Raven conscripted two younger girls to help move Clarke's medical equipment inside, then rushed forward to hug Clarke. The move surprised them both. Clarke hugged Raven back, shooting Bellamy a confused smile as she did so. He shrugged.

The party was short-lived; too much had happened, and Bellamy needed to be brought up to speed quickly. Monty, Miller, Raven, and Bellamy headed for his tent while Clarke dealt with the pillows and sheets, explaining to several of the better seamstresses her quilt idea. She was about to step into the medical bay to review her equipment when she remembered Finn was still there.

She wasn't ready for that just yet.

She spun on her heel and fled to Bellamy's tent; it was crowded with bodies, all deep in conversation by the time she arrived. She slipped in behind Miller, not wanting to cause problems.

"Clarke!" Bellamy called to her immediately. She gave him a half smile and a little nod; she was fine where she was.

He pushed past Monty and grabbed her hand, pulling her in to stand at his side as Raven continued her explanation of the Grounder's escape.

"We don't know for sure who helped him, but we have an idea," Raven explained cautiously. Bellamy raised his eyebrows impatiently, urging her to continue. The teens looked at each other nervously. "Um, Octavia's missing too."

Bellamy could have exploded. He should have exploded. He had every right to. Instead, he gripped Clarke's hand at his side – gripped so hard she winced. He closed his eyes to steady his world.

"Dammit, O… why does she always make it so hard to keep her safe?" he muttered. Clarke's brow furrowed and she rubbed his arm covertly, not sure what to say.

Raven was the only one in the room who caught the gesture, or understood the importance of it. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly, glancing between the two returnees carefully. Then she grinned mischievously at Clarke, and changed the topic.

"So, tell us about the scouting expedition. Any _amazing_ new discoveries?" she asked them pointedly. Bellamy looked at her blankly. Clarke blushed, and Raven smiled in satisfaction. Those were just the reactions she would have expected form the two of them. Not that she ever would have put the two of them together, but in retrospect it made a strange kind of sense.

"We can deal with that later, Raven," Bellamy chastised her roughly._ Ha! I bet you will, too_, she thought. "My priority has to be Octavia." He turned his attention on his subordinate, and his temper flared now.

"Miller, you had _one_ damn job! And you failed me! Now it's on you to get her back; this time, no casualties. We'll discuss what happened, once she's back - _safe_. Understood?" Miller nodded grimly and left in search of Monroe and a few others. Being Bellamy's second in command had its privileges, but it was certainly a hazardous job. Especially when Bellamy was angry. He searched out Monroe first, to deliver a warning before Bellamy came for her. She saw Miller coming and sidled up to him, checking to make sure no one was watching before planting a steamy kiss on the dark-skinned boy. He returned it absent-mindedly, then grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer; he whispered urgently to her for a moment, gave her a second, more reassuring kiss, and then they headed off together. They called out the names of three other trustworthy scouts, and ran for the Wall's main gate.

…

Octavia was picking her way back toward the Wall, smiling at the memory of last night... and this morning... and then again later in the morning... She saw Miller just as Monroe called out a warning. She stopped in her tracks and rolled her eyes skyward, then swore.

"Dammit Bellamy, you always have to ruin _every_thing!" she yelled at the woods in general. "I swear to you Miller, I was _just_ on my way back." She stepped forward and held out her wrists to him; he just stared at her in mute frustration.

"So? Aren't you going to tie me up, drag me back to camp, maybe torture me a little for some precious 'intel' on where I've been?" she accused him.

"I'm only following Bellamy's orders, Octavia," Miller tried.

"Well, don't. Who put him in charge, anyway?" she asked spitefully.

"I think we all kind of did," Monroe answered, swinging into line behind Octavia as they headed back to the safety of the Wall.

"Funny, I don't remember voting," Octavia muttered. Miller shook his head. She was gorgeous, but damn was she a pain in the ass. If only she would shut up, for just a few seconds.

"Bellamy is _seriously_ pissed, Octavia. He went all quiet."

That finally shut her up.

…

It was time. Clarke had been avoiding Finn, avoiding the entire medical bay, all afternoon. Now the sun had set and twilight crept up on the camp, and she knew she was out of time.

She sighed in frustration, because if things had been just a little different, she was sure they could have been good friends. Well, if things had been different - and Bellamy had never shared with her the full scope of Finn's crimes. Clarke steeled herself and stepped into the med bay. He was right there, a grin already forming at the sight of her.

"Clarke," he sighed with relief. "I was so worried -"

"Well you didn't need to be," she cut him off brusquely. "Anyway, I'm just here to officially clear you from bed rest." She stepped to his side, reaching inside herself for that elusive clinical detachment her mother always mentioned. _Just another patient, that's it_. Just another day of keeping people patched up so they could make it to the next day and the next set of patches.

A quick check confirmed that he was healing well. She turned away to prepare a fresh bandage.

"Okay, well, that's looking good. You're no longer confined to bed rest," she announced, "but nothing strenuous. And Finn… No more spacewalks." She stared at him point-blank as she said it, and his eyes confirmed her suspicions. She had been just that: a spacewalk on Earth, a release from the weight of his everyday burdens.

It freed something within her, seeing his reaction. All his claims of feeling something more… they were just the manipulations of a scared kid who didn't want to give up his fun new toy.

"Clarke…" he tried one last time, reaching for her hand. She yanked away from him bitterly.

"You will never do that again," she commanded him. "Get out of here, Finn. Go back to Raven. She's your family. You need to remember that." He didn't make any attempt to get up from the bed.

"Fine. Take your time; I'm going to sleep. Good night, Finn." With that, Clarke stalked out of the med bay.

Bellamy had been pacing, staring hard at the entrance to the drop-ship ever since she entered. He made sure to keep a safe distance, so she couldn't accuse him of loitering, but when she burst out in a flurry of frustration, he called to her immediately. They crossed to each other quickly – and just before he reached her, a movement at the drop-ship entrance caught Bellamy's eye. The Spacewalker was staring after Clarke, obviously intending to pursue a conversation Clarke had long since ended.

Bellamy took even greater pleasure than usual in gathering her into his arms, kissing her so fervently that her knees began to buckle. He barely registered the catcalls and whistles from the audience of teens gathered around a nearby bonfire. But Spacewalker's face as Bellamy scooped up the exhausted Clarke, wordlessly declaring the game over and Finn Collins the loser – that face was the perfect ending to Bellamy Blake's day.


	12. Chapter 12

[A/N: The quote for this most recent "triptych" of chapters should make more sense now! Thank you to everyone who reads, and especially all you brave souls who review. It's so wonderful to get feedback!]

[A/N2: So... Following "Hurt" yet? By Marina Black1, the Beta for this fic? ...You are? Oh ok, good, just checking.]

...

**"Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself."**

**~ Khalil Gibran**

On the makeshift bed in his tent, Bellamy stretched out on his side next to Clarke and brushed a stray hair from her face, before letting his hand drift to the softness of her stomach.

"My God you're beautiful," he whispered. She gave him a look of loving annoyance and snorted gently.

"I'm tired," she deflected. But even as she spoke, her hands crept up to the scruffy texture of his cheeks. "And you need a shave." He twisted onto his back, his hand still caressing her midsection possessively.

"In the morning," he replied. "Are you okay?" he whispered to her, concerned about what might have happened back in the drop-ship with Finn.

"I'm fine, Bellamy." She turned her face toward his and kissed him gently, chastely on the lips. He laughed.

"Oh no, Princess. It's a little late to play coy with me." His kiss was deeper, more intimate, more demanding. She curled her body into his, their legs twining together as she responded. Eventually she stopped him; there were still so many things to discuss before they could really go to sleep.

"Bellamy, we should send a larger party to the hospital. As soon as possible," she began. Bellamy exhaled loudly in frustration.

"I didn't realize you'd be bringing business to bed with you," he started, and she tensed.

"Of _course_ I'm going to, when there's so much unfinished business! But if you want, we can always get _out_ of bed…" she left the threat hanging between them.

"No, don't," he surrendered. "I'll be fine. It's much nicer to talk business this way," he admitted. He shifted slightly, pulling her onto his chest and enveloping her in his protective arms. "So, the hospital; I agree. That's obvious. The big question is…"

"I know. The barn," Clarke sighed. She knew what Finn would have said: that it should be only theirs, a private space in this very public world. She still didn't know exactly what Bellamy's position would be, but she had a feeling...

"Clarke, you should choose what to do. Personally, I think we have to tell everyone. Those wooden boards alone could build us dozens of real houses. But… If you disagree, I won't bring it up again." Clarke's heart swelled; this was Bellamy at his finest, concerned for her feelings but thinking of the needs of the group.

"No, I agree," she murmured. "I wish I had grabbed something as a souvenir, but it's more important that we all survive this winter." Her words jogged something in Bellamy's memory, and he shifted under her suddenly, reaching for his pack.

"I actually found something you might like," he said, "I didn't really have a chance to give it to you earlier." Out of the bottom of his pack Bellamy pulled an ancient leather-bound book; he handed it to her shyly.

She sat up and stared at him in wonder as she felt the weight of the book. When she opened it, she gasped in shock.

"It's empty!" she buzzed. "But… I don't understand…"

"The map's almost full, isn't it?" Bellamy asked her. "Now you can keep going."

"Thank you, Bellamy. Where did you find it?"

"In a little wooden box in the barn. I think they used it to track something with the animals, but the lines are all faded and the handwriting makes no sense."

Clarke flipped through the pages as he spoke and saw what he meant: they had once been lined with columns as though from a ledger, but time and moisture had faded the green ink enough that Clarke could still draw easily on the stiff paper.

"Bellamy, it's… thank you." She kissed him gratefully and set the book down on the bed beside him. There was no good way to tell him just how much his gift affected her. She settled back into her space on his chest. Together, home now, they enjoyed a moment of silent happiness.

"What about the sugar maples?" Clarke started again. Bellamy laughed as he stroked her hair, and shook his head at her determination.

"Okay, so we're going to solve _all_ the problems, here, tonight, and then be done with the whole thing, right?"

"No promises," Clarke smiled. "But actually, it _is_ time to talk about Octavia and the Grounder." Bellamy's breath stuck in his chest for just a moment before he exhaled slowly.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"You know why she helped him."

"We are _not_ talking about this," he said, trying to stay calm.

"They have a connection, Bellamy." _My God, she just kept pushing!_

"Was I unclear, Princess?! You don't get to talk to me about Octavia!" He felt like an ass as soon as it came out, but he swallowed the apology. She needed to understand. Octavia was different. Octavia was off-limits.

Clarke sat up again and looked at Bellamy, watching his face carefully. They were standing at a crossroads: it was up to her to choose which way this conversation headed. She grabbed his hand and kissed the rough palm. He relaxed slightly.

"Bellamy, I know you've been her father her whole life. _Your _whole life. But she's not much younger than me, you know. And I just think, as someone who's got some similar life experiences, I might be able to offer you a little… insight. That's all." Bellamy sighed in defeat.

"Insight?"

"Yes, that's it. Really."

"Okay, fine, let's hear your great insight," he challenged her. There was still a slight chilliness between them.

"They share something, Bellamy. You saw it, too. Most people don't ever get to feel that," she murmured, running her hand over his stomach as she spoke. His eyes drifted shut as he focused on the warmth of her fingers; she continued, softly: "When someone tells you _not_ to be with the person you're absolutely sure is yours, it just makes you even more determined." Bellamy's eyes flickered open and he grabbed her hand, stopping her.

"Are we still talking about Octavia and that Grounder?" he asked her quietly. She laughed and he dragged her over his body again, helping her shed the layers of clothing that so selfishly kept her hidden from him.

…

Winter finally came, but it wasn't quite as terrible as they had feared. There was snow, but nothing heavy. Several days the temperature stayed above zero all day. Both of these conditions were preferable to those atrocious days when it rained, a freezing-cold rain that got into the bones no matter how carefully one wrapped up against it.

Clarke sat down next to Octavia, staring out at the morning's ugly gray drizzle with a frown as she poured them each a cup of hot mint tea. She wasn't sure what to say to the distraught girl. Even though they were only a few months apart in age, Clarke felt like her big sister. A big sister with a _huge_ problem.

_Bellamy._

"Look, Octavia, I'll deal with Bellamy, okay? You shouldn't have to worry about that right now. There's a lot we still have to figure out. For now, I want you to get plenty of rest, and try to stay calm. I promise – I'm here for you no matter what, okay?" Octavia nodded miserably.

"We should get word to… Lincoln?" Clarke looked for confirmation and Octavia nodded again. Clarke was worried. Octavia wasn't usually this quiet.

"I'll find a way to tell him," Octavia finally spoke. There was no need to tell Clarke that, up until last week, she'd been sneaking out every night through a small gap in the Wall behind her tent. She had been too tired to make the trip for several days now, and besides – she hadn't wanted to make him sick, too. But now that she knew the vomiting for what it was, she vowed not to fall asleep so quickly tonight. In weather like this, even the night guards Bellamy posted along the Wall would be hiding under whatever protection they could. Octavia would be able to slip out easily in the wet darkness.

…

Bellamy was bent over the table, checking on Monty and Jasper's designs for the spring gardens, when Clarke slipped into the tent. She kissed him lightly, nervously, on the lips and then curled up on the bed opposite him. She felt bone tired, but knew this was too important a conversation to delay.

"Bellamy," she started, "There's something we need to talk about." He looked up and tilted his head, curious.

"Anything. Always. That's the deal, Clarke."

"I know. Okay," she blew a lungful of air out slowly through tight lips. "I just came from the med bay; Octavia stopped by. We had a… nice… chat."

"…And...?" Bellamy wondered if it would be rude to keep working while she talked.

"The topic was pregnancy, Bellamy." At that, Bellamy's focus changed. He grinned a knowing half-grin and his eyes glimmered mischievously. He slid around the table and joined Clarke on the bed.

"Clarke, I'm happy you feel comfortable talking to Octavia about these things, but why didn't you come to me first?" he asked her.

Clarke's brow furrowed in confusion. He was being so calm. Too calm. And also a little controlling of Octavia... Even for him.

"… Why would I come to you first?" she asked. Now he just looked hurt and offended.

"Girl stuff is girl stuff, Clarke, but really this is about us. I have a right to participate." Her eyes widened at his words. That was way beyond brotherly affection.

"Seriously, Bell, what's going on?" she asked him slowly. He tilted his head.

"You're telling me you're pregnant. - I already know, by the way," he smiled and leaned forward to kiss her. She welcomed the kiss, but cut it short.

"Bellamy, I'm _not_ pregnant."

"Yes, you _are_. Trust me." His hand slid up under her shirt, found her breast, and cradled it gently. His touch felt almost uncomfortable, and she looked at him in horror as he smiled confidently.

"Every male within two miles has been staring at your chest for the past week," he commented. She looked down and realized he was right; her breasts _were_ larger, rounder.

"And haven't you noticed that you've been more tired? Falling asleep – well, everywhere? I've had Raven and Mei intercepting all of the basic first aid, so you could get some rest." Clarke's head felt fuzzy. She had noticed it seemed kind of empty in the med bay these days. But… This just _couldn't_ be true!

"I've never gotten morning sickness! _Nothing!_" She was starting to panic. Bellamy grabbed her, pulling her against his firm chest.

"Who's the doctor around here, Princess? Morning sickness doesn't affect everyone. My mother never got sick, either."

_Oh. My. God._ He was right. Suddenly she was as sure as he.

"Wait," Bellamy said slowly, his head cocked as he processed the recent confusion. "If you didn't know… Then why were you…?"

There was a heavy beat of silence as they stared at each other, each wondering what would happen next. Clarke moved first, reaching out for his hand, grabbing it firmly.

"Bellamy, stay calm," she warned him. "You two are just barely on speaking terms again. Don't ruin it!" She was pretty sure it was too late.

"I'm going to kill that fucking Grounder!" Bellamy yelled as he lunged for the tent flap. Clarke was right on his heels.

"Miller!" she screamed as Bellamy roared out of the tent, "Stop him! He's lost it!" One look at Bellamy's murderous face was enough to convince Miller. Not one for lots of questions, he simply ran forward and tackled the bigger man, sending him flying to the wet muddy ground, just as Clarke ran up to them both.

"Bellamy! Stop! We have to think about this!" she tried. He pushed Miller off and raced for the gate, blinded by his hatred of the man who had sullied his sister, had almost certainly ruined her life, and was probably out there right now laughing about it with his fucking Grounder friends. Well, that would be the last thing he ever did.

He didn't have to go far. Lincoln was twenty feet from the Wall when Bellamy burst through the main entrance. The men spied each other almost instantly, and both of them braced for battle.


	13. Chapter 13

_[A/N: This chapter deals with a heavy topic. The issues that come up here are going to continue in subsequent chapters. But if you are worried about where I might be headed with this... please know that I am a hopeless romantic. I hope you will trust me!]_

**"****Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother."  
****~ Khalil Gibran**

Raven hummed cheerfully as she tightened a screw at the back of the speaker. The problem, she thought to herself, was really one of juice. It was all about keeping that hot, delicious electricity from bleeding out all over the place before it could get to the transmitters.

"Clarke has her surgeries, I have mine," she murmured happily. "Two geniuses marooned down here with a bucketful of damn Floatables. They have no idea how lucky they are to have us."

"Who doesn't?" Monty asked, unfurling a large coil of wire behind him as he backed into the cramped space next to Clarke's updated med bay. The hospital raid had been a little _too_ successful, as far as Raven and Monty were concerned. The first floor of the drop-ship had once been equal parts tech and medical... now, their workspace had been reduced to a tiny corner of the open room.

Raven spun around and blushed at being overheard.

"No, nothing, just keeping myself sane," she answered quickly. "Are you sure that's all the wiring we have left?" Monty didn't even bother to answer – she knew it was. He looked at her, and considered whether or not to call her out for the earlier insult. He had heard what she said, but Raven Reyes was _exactly_ as terrifying as Monty had expected all the criminals to be… even though technically, she was the only one not guilty of committing any crime. Creepy.

"Raven, I've been thinking," Monty started, leaning against the wall and watching her work. "Why are we trying to talk to the Ark? I mean, we seem to be doing okay without them so far. All those supplies Bellamy and Clarke found… Seriously, I even figured out how to make maple syrup the other week. That's mad skills." Raven laughed a deep, throaty laugh. It was kind of sexy. Still in that scary way, though.

"Monty, the Ark is dying, remember? And besides, we're _barely_ making it. The Ark has supplies. Experts. And for some of these kids," she added more softly, "family. Don't you miss your parents?" Monty thought about that.

He _said_ he did, all the time, whenever anyone else brought up the subject. But his actual parents? Those people who had worked all day long, every single day in the Agro Unit, and come home stinking of compost and so tired they couldn't even laugh with each other any more? They weren't his parents, really, they were just the shadows of his parents, joining him for a few hours each night to pick clumsily at a silent meal, then falling into their bunks, shutting down almost instantly. Miss them? Monty had grieved their loss years ago, and moved on.

"Sure, yeah, who doesn't? It's just… we've all been through so much together down here… I mean, don't you feel like you can't ever go back to being who you were, before? – Uh, you've got that coupling on wrong."

Raven paused to swear at the offending hardware, and considered Monty's question as she worked. Before she came here, life was so simple. Hard, and often unpleasant, but simple. It was just her and Finn against everyone, all the time. Then Finn had disappeared, and she had found Abby Griffin, and had discovered just how far they both would go for love. On Earth, Raven had met and liked Clarke, respected her… and also resented her, feared her, and ultimately loved her, all in the space of a few weeks. Monty was right. She had no idea how she had ever been Raven Reyes of the Ark. She was too busy being Raven Reyes, of Earth, which was a much less simple – but so much more empowering – life.

"Hey! Stop – did you hear that?" Monty interrupted Raven's reverie. "There was something there, in the feedback!" He bent forward now, joining Raven as the pair of them felt the first blush of success in months.

…

Bellamy realized too late that he should have grabbed a weapon – a stick, a rock, anything – before rushing headlong to find and attack the Grounder. They were unevenly matched. The Grounder had years of experience staying alive on this fucking crazy planet, and a spare knife always at the ready. Bellamy had been trained in the more formal ways of the Ark's guard corps, and was armed with nothing but raw, hot rage. Still, he might have actually had a chance if it had come to it; he had felt such fury only once or twice before, and he could have used it to his advantage. But Clarke stepped in from nowhere, her arms stretched out between them, and Bellamy's anger turned instantly to inchoate fear.

"Clarke, no!" he strangled out, rushing toward her. She was so damn headstrong! Had she forgotten she was carrying his son? - Or maybe daughter. Right now, he was praying fervently for a boy. This bullshit wasn't worth it.

The Grounder looked at the blonde woman in surprise. This was the one who had told Octavia's brother to hit him, again and again. He hated her. But Octavia said she was a healer; that was a point in her favor... _Hmph._ Maybe half a point.

"It's Lincoln, right?" Clarke asked him hesitantly, shooting Bellamy an "I'll deal with you later" look that actually slowed him slightly. The brother was scared of her. Lincoln liked her a little more already.

"Lincoln, I'm Clarke. That... _idiot_ over there is Octavia's brother. His name is Bellamy." She was speaking slowly, as if she thought he was an idiot, too.

"I know who you are, Healer."

Clarke gasped. Bellamy swore and stepped closer, stopping only when Clarke put her hand against his chest as a warning. His voice dripped venom.

"So, you understand me, asshole? Then you'll understand when I tell you, you are a _dead_ man! – No Clarke," he stopped to negotiate softly with the Healer, who was trying to calm him, "No, he deserves _nothing_! ...She's my sister, Clarke!" The brother was struggling to keep himself under control. Lincoln's eyes narrowed. He had no idea what was going on between these two, but his patience was growing thin. Octavia had made him swear not to kill any of the Fallen Ones, but right now that promise was being put to the test. These two, the cruelest of them all… they _deserved_ death. It would be better for everyone. They were too dangerous. For Octavia, though…

"Where is she?" Lincoln finally asked. "What did you do to her?" Clarke turned to him, about to speak, but Bellamy cut her off. His voice now was low, grieving.

"You'll _never_ see her again. You had your fun, you used her, you got her pregnant, and now _I'll_ take it from here."

Lincoln froze. The knife in his hand lowered a few inches; to Bellamy, it looked for all the world like he had deflated slightly. Bellamy frowned. This was exactly how people ended up dead – letting their guard down because the other guy faked weakness.

"Pregnant? Octavia?"

Bellamy did not have a lot of experience reading Lincoln's pitch for meaning, but he had seen a similar look in those eyes, once before. When Octavia had sliced into her own arm with a poisoned blade, and Lincoln had actually frightened Bellamy with the intensity of his reaction. The Grounder's look now screamed at Bellamy: it screamed fear, and pride, and hope, and a thick, heavy love that had no patience for fickle things like Fate. It reached into Bellamy's soul and pulled out Clarke and shook her in his face and shouted, "See, we are the same, you and I".

"You didn't know." Bellamy whispered, tucking away his anger - for the moment.

"No. I just knew she didn't come to me any more. I… need to see her."

"Even though coming here means coming to your own death." Bellamy prodded.

"Yes."

"Because…?"

"Because _she_ is my life." She was the sap running in spring, the water laughing over a stony creek bed, the monarch kissing the milkweed, the bluebird singing to the sun, she was Life itself. "…_They_ are my life," Lincoln corrected, testing this new idea.

Lincoln sank to his knees and threw his knife at Bellamy's feet. "You are her blood. Kill me if you want. But if you don't, I won't stop looking for her. She belongs to me. I belong to her."

…

Raven ran through the muddy camp, looking excitedly for Clarke. She found Jasper and pulled the lanky teenager around to face her, flashing him her most charming smile.

"Clarke – have you seen her?" Raven asked breathlessly. Jasper blinked heavily at Raven's wide dark eyes and smiling mouth and then thought for a moment.

"Mmmm, no, I guess I haven't. Why?" Raven's charm disappeared.

"Oh, just - never mind!" she yelled and ran off, searching for a more reliable source of intel. Finn saw her darting through the clusters of workers and caught up easily.

"Looking for someone?" he smiled.

"Clarke! The radio! It's Abby – we have to find her!" Raven panted now with excitement. Finn nodded in understanding and looked around the enclosure. His practiced eye caught the discrepancy immediately: the main gate hung open, banging ever so lightly in the miserable rain. He pointed it out to Raven and she took off, yelling at Finn to go help Monty in the drop-ship.

"Aye-aye, captain," Finn muttered at her retreating back.

Raven raced through the gate and looked around for evidence of Clarke. It didn't take long. The tableau before her was… disorienting.

Clarke was standing a few feet from Bellamy; kneeling between them was the Grounder. _That_ Grounder. The Grounder Raven had nearly killed.

"Fucking… Bellamy! What is this?!" She called as she moved toward them. To his credit, Bellamy barely flinched. He kept a cautious eye on Lincoln as he spoke.

"Just sorting out some family stuff, Raven," Bellamy called back gruffly. His next words were for Clarke; he sounded conflicted. "What do I do now? I won't kill him, Clarke. But… " He stopped abruptly and an animal cry of frustration escaped his lungs. He _wouldn't_ kill Lincoln, because he couldn't condemn Octavia's unborn child to a fatherless existence. But he needed to punish the asshole that knocked her up, stole her childhood while Bellamy was looking the other way.

"Let me see her," Lincoln insisted quietly. They seemed to be at an impasse. Clarke looked from one to the other, as lost as Bellamy. This could all go to hell at any moment.

"Clarke," Raven finally remembered herself, "The radio! Your mom's on the radio!" Clarke turned shocked eyes on Raven, but then remembered herself. She stared hesitantly at Bellamy and Lincoln and their stalemate; she had to stay here, keep them from killing each other. Raven stepped forward and grabbed her friend's hand.

"Hey, it's okay," she said. "I'll babysit, make sure these two behave until you get back." She caught the look in Bellamy's eyes and gulped. "Just… hurry."

It had been so long since Clarke allowed herself to consider the radio a viable project. Monty and Raven tinkered with it constantly, but it was a background hum to her work in the med bay. In fact, she often called Raven to assist her with basic first aid when things got busy, because it seemed a more worthwhile use of her friend's time.

Now, as she rushed back to the drop-ship, she felt relief swell in her chest at the thought of confiding in her mother. A medical professional. Someone who had monitored pregnancies, delivered babies… someone who had given birth herself, and could tell her what to expect in a way that Clarke could actually _use_.

She was so distracted by the thought of speaking to Abby that Clarke nearly ran over Monty on his way out. She apologized, but he just smiled gleefully and explained he was heading up to check on the antenna at the top of the ship. Clarke nodded and headed inside, eager to get out of this rain.

Nobody had mentioned Finn. He was standing in the middle of the room, looking a little lost. Clarke froze and frowned. She had managed to avoid this for weeks. She and Finn hadn't been alone together since she discharged him from the med bay, and she was perfectly happy to keep it that way for the foreseeable future. Too bad the universe had a different idea. And shitty timing.

Clarke sighed and moved to pass Finn, but he stepped into her path.

"Clarke," he whispered, his face tortured.

"No, Finn; whatever it is, no."

"I just… miss you, Clarke. Our friendship." His brows knitted together in concern for her. "I used to know what you were thinking, how you felt about things. I don't like being cut off from you."

"Funny, _I_ didn't like being made complicit in hurting Raven," Clarke shot back bitterly. His face clouded at that.

"Come on, Princess -" She wheeled on him at the use of Bellamy's nickname, her nostrils flared.

"_You_ don't get to call me that!" He pulled back at her anger, then matched it with his own.

"Why not? I was the _first_ one to use it!"

"No, Finn, you weren't!"

Clarke had no early memories of Jake Griffin calling her anything _but_ Princess. It was just… his name for her, and at first she didn't know any better. But she could also remember sitting him down when she was about 9 or 10, for a very serious discussion. In all her nascent political awareness, she explained to him why she felt the nickname was an archaic holdover from an ancient era of staggering social inequality; he had nodded right along with her, as serious as she, and agreed not to use the term any longer. After that it was always just "Clarke" or "Kiddo" – at least, out loud.

"Why is _he_ allowed to, then?" Finn demanded, thinking of Bellamy spitefully.

Because... it had started as a curse, and ended up a kiss.

Because... it made love to her from across any distance.

Because... it was filled with his fierce, frightening need for her.

"Because he earned it," she said out loud. "Now, just - let me talk to my mom alone, Finn."

She didn't even bother looking at him as she crossed to the radio sitting on the small table in the corner of the drop-ship.

…

"Clarke!" Abby's voice sounded like it was coming from inside a metal drum, but Clarke hardly noticed. It was warm and concerned, and she broke down instantly. She had been barely holding it together all morning.

"Mom!" she gasped, trying to sound calmer than she was. She sobbed into her hand, curling away from the small microphone so Abby wouldn't hear. It didn't work.

"Honey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" The last time they had spoken, Clarke had just saved Finn from a knife wound. Abby had spent the intervening weeks hoping for some sign that her daughter was safe; to have this confirmation now was an instant and overwhelming relief.

...Until Clarke, sobbing in a great, lung-crushing way she hadn't since Jake's death, confessed to having made the stupidest mistake of her life. She needed comfort, a warm hug, a shoulder to cry on. Abby could provide none of those. The only thing she could do was serve as Clarke's doctor.

"Okay, calm down, Clarke, everything will be okay," she encouraged her brilliant, lost daughter. "I need you to focus. The pregnancy can't be very far along. You've only been down there a couple months." Clarke's breathing slowed as her mother's soothing clinician's voice continued to roll out from the tinny speaker.

"There were several teens from Agro Unit among the original 100; are any still alive?" Clarke thought of Monty and Jasper and their friends.

"Mm-hm."

"Good. Find them. They can help you. There are teas you can make, honey. I'll find a list of the herbs you'll need, and make sure you get it right away. I won't lie to you, Clarke, it can be dangerous to terminate a pregna -"

"What?!" Clarke stopped her, staring at the radio in disbelief.

"Clarke, come on, you know you can't have a baby now." Abby left it there. Surely Clarke would be able to see the logic of it all.

"Mom, I don't think I can make that decision alone," Clarke finally whispered. "What about the father?" Abby was silent for a moment.

"Honey, this isn't a game. You are _not_ ready to be a parent!" Abby suddenly sounded desperate and scared… And Clarke knew she was right. She herself was terrified, and she was definitely not ready.

But Bellamy... _was_. Bellamy, who had noticed before she did. Who had quietly and efficiently lightened her workload so she could get more rest. Who knew about morning sickness, had smiled when he explained it to her, and kissed her, and been happy.

"I need some air," she sighed heavily, pushing away from the table and heading outside without even saying goodbye. Raven probably needed her anyway, by now. She could feel the exhaustion pulling at her body, but there was no time to surrender to it now. There was never enough time down here.


	14. Chapter 14

_[A/N (Repeated from Chapter 13): This chapter deals with a heavy topic. The issues that come up here are going to continue in subsequent chapters. But if you are worried about where I might be headed with this... please know that I am a hopeless romantic. I hope you will trust me!]_

_[A/N: I hope the lengthiness makes up at least in part for the delayed posting. This chapter has haunted me for far too long. You should all thank my Beta, Marina Black1, for getting me through it at all. She's the bomb. And you should go read, fall in love with, and then "follow" and "favorite" her awesome epic, Hurt.]_

_..._

**"Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother."  
~ Khalil Gibran**

Everything was brown and miserable and damp; Bellamy blended right in to the forest, one half of his body caked in mud from when Miller had tackled him. He and Lincoln were still caught in their strange limbo, and Raven was staring at them, arms crossed, in amazement.

"I think it's a pissing contest," she whispered when Clarke finally sidled up beside her. Clarke was feeling none of it. She just wanted to sleep, and have Bellamy back. Abby had upset the delicate balance that was holding Clarke together - and this little stand-off was not helping her regain her composure. She ran her hands through her hair and groaned in frustration, then stepped forward - placing herself between the two men - and deliberately turned her back on the kneeling Lincoln so she could stare at Bellamy.

He tried to suppress his panic, but she could see it in his throat, in the way his pulse jumped at the thought of her proximity to sudden and violent death at the hand of the Grounder.

"Lincoln, are you going to kill me?" Clarke asked over her shoulder. He thought about it. He thought about it for what Bellamy considered to be a very, very long time.

"No," Lincoln finally answered honestly. Clarke relaxed and smiled at Bellamy.

"Okay. I'm cold, wet, and tired, and I have to get back to Octavia. She needs my help." At the name, both men finally turned their full attention on Clarke. "Lincoln, I do believe you're just here to see Octavia. We aren't holding her hostage, but she's been sick because of the pregnancy. I can take you to her, okay? ...And Bellamy, you have to trust me. It's for Octavia." Clarke reached out and touched his forearm lightly as a warning. She remembered his sister's promise from earlier, that she would find a way to tell Lincoln about the baby. Clarke was certain it involved sneaking away from camp at night, a far more dangerous prospect.

Bellamy fairly vibrated with the effort at self-control. She always pushed right up against the edge of his sanity, asking things of him that no reasonable person should ask. He knew he would eventually give in, because it was Clarke, but that didn't mean he wouldn't fight her every step of the way.

"No. I can't let a Grounder just walk through our gates like this!" he tried.

"So tie him up," Raven suggested, and three pairs of eyes turned to her. They had almost forgotten she was still watching. Lincoln let out an angry hiss; there was no way in hell he would let Octavia's brother tie him up. That had ended poorly for him last time. Clarke heard his reaction and frowned thoughtfully.

"What if it just _looked _like we tied you up?" Clarke offered, nodding a quick grateful thank you at Raven as she spoke. Lincoln considered her carefully.

This situation was getting out of hand. Bellamy had come looking to exact revenge upon this man, and now Clarke and Raven were plotting ways to sneak him in to Octavia. He grabbed Clarke's upper arm – far harder than he intended to.

She pulled away, surprised at the harshness of his touch, and he knew instantly that he had gone too far. Bellamy's face fell and his dark eyes softened, begging her forgiveness.

"Shit! Clarke, I'm sorry…"

"No, Bellamy, don't," Clarke answered, hurt, reeling from the heaviness of his fingers. He had never touched her that way before. Everything about this day was upending her understanding of the world. Bellamy read the disappointment and sense of betrayal in her voice, and stepped back. He would need to atone for this, later. For now, he knew enough about Clarke to get out of her way and not make it worse.

"Lincoln, are you ready? You _will_ be safe with us."

"I wasn't last time," he reminded her. Clarke's mouth thinned, and she nodded.

"You're right. We - I - made terrible mistakes. Mistakes that we have to live with forever. But… A friend's life was at stake. I _am_ sorry, for what it's worth…" Lincoln tilted his head as he considered her words. He didn't trust her, not fully. But if there was even the slightest chance that she was sincere…

"Please take me to Octavia," he finally whispered, and even Bellamy had to look away from the pain in his eyes. Clarke choked back tears and nodded, not trusting her voice.

Once his hands were loosely bound, Bellamy insisted on checking for concealed weapons. Lincoln stiffened, but Bellamy was fast and efficient. He gathered the small collection of knives and a slim quiver of arrows into his arms, then nodded at Clarke, still too ashamed to look her in the eye. As they headed back to the gate, Clarke whispered something to Raven, who nodded and sprinted ahead.

"Make it fast, Clarke; try not to draw too much attention," Bellamy ordered her, forgetting himself for a moment.

"I know," she shot back, annoyed. He flinched.

The weather worked in their favor; very few people were out in this freezing wet, and the ones that had to be were moving quickly, shoulders hunched and heads down. They made it to the drop-ship and Clarke's med bay with only a few curious glances.

Once inside, Clarke shot Bellamy a look and tilted her head toward the door; without a word, he moved to the threshold to stand sentry. He was grateful for this chance to be alone, to consider how he could fix things with Clarke. The rain was sheeting down now, almost completely blocking his view of the camp. It offered him just the privacy he needed.

Clarke smiled as reassuringly as she could at Lincoln and offered him a seat on the nearby exam table as she grabbed a small rag to dry her hair. Lincoln just shook his head, staring at the entrance to the ship with a mixture of anticipation and nerves, willing Octavia to appear. He was not expecting her to come dropping out of the airlock beside him with Raven in tow; when Octavia landed lightly on her feet and smiled up at him, Lincoln was a man transformed. He glowed, grabbing her in his strong arms and lifting her high so he could stare more fully into her face. They kissed sweetly, and then he carried her to the exam table and sat her on the edge reverently. Clarke cleared her throat and caught Raven's eye. The friends shared a look that said it was good Bellamy had missed that little moment of intimacy.

"Tell me about our child," Lincoln looked at Clarke now, "please." Gone was the fierce warrior; Clarke could easily see what had drawn Octavia to this man, his gentleness and quiet grace.

"Clarke, you _told_ him? What the hell!**" **Octavia shouted, when she registered what Lincoln had said. Her hands pummeled the bed in frustration and anger.

"Clarke didn't, O. It was me," Bellamy murmured, stepping back into the room temporarily. He was uncomfortable with everything about this, and his body telegraphed that to the room: tense shoulders, tight jaw, furrowed brow, and black-as-death eyes. But for Clarke, for Octavia, he was willing to see what happened. After all, he had the Grounder's weapons now - that minimized the threat considerably.

Clarke looked around the room at its four other occupants. These were the people her baby would grow up around, these would be her child's family… and they all hated each other. She felt the tears start again and swiped angrily at her eyes. _Dammit, this day..._ And it wasn't even lunchtime…

Bellamy was by her side instantly. The room evaporated for her as he ran his hands over her cheekbones, sliding the tears away with his thumbs. He bent to her, kissed her lips and each hot salty eyelid, and then folded her into his chest.

"It can wait, Clarke," he whispered into her hair. He didn't know exactly what could be rattling her this much – he knew he was partly to blame, but her hurt seemed bigger than the two of them. Whatever had happened, he would find out, and he would fix it. For her. "It can all wait."

She cried with her whole body then because, no, it just couldn't. Her mother was right – if she was going to terminate her pregnancy, every day mattered. The sooner the better, but she hadn't even had a moment to talk to Bellamy alone. And Octavia and Lincoln: they couldn't wait, either. Lincoln's life was in danger here. Bellamy's charismatic hold over the strongest hunters and fighters only went so far. Raw panic could gut a man in this place, had lynched one already, and she had led Lincoln right into the vipers' den.

She cried for the unborn child she carried; she cried because she felt the dirt of Lincoln's torture on her soul now more than ever; she cried because she was so tired she was afraid to close her eyes, in case she just fell asleep while standing.

"Help me," she whispered back to him. Bellamy's throat closed around a hard lump of pain at her distress. He lifted her easily and, with one guarded look at Lincoln, placed Clarke on the second of the exam tables he'd had built for her. She gripped his hand like it was her lifeline, and stared across the narrow aisle at Octavia, who stared back knowingly. Bellamy and Lincoln both pretended not to notice that they were now standing only a few feet apart.

Raven had had enough.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" she asked the room in general. Bellamy answered first.

"The Grounder got my sister pregnant," he growled.

"Yeah, well, Asshole over there clearly got Clarke knocked up, too," Octavia chimed in. She was still pissed that Lincoln had heard the news from Bellamy, who had no right to be involved in this at all.

"Octavia…" Bellamy started, reaching out to her, but Raven cut him off.

"Wait - but how?" she asked them all. She was still processing the news, if the crease in her forehead was any indication.

Lincoln looked at her, surprised.

"You don't know how?" he asked. Raven's face flamed.

"No, I know how to make a baby, Grou – um, Lincoln," she snapped. "It's called a rhetorical question. _Damn_." She shook her head and rolled her eyes at Clarke. _Men_. "Okay, what do we do? Is there a test I need to give you two? Or do we need to mark, like, a calendar? … Oh my god - we don't even _have_ a calendar down here!" Raven's eyes widened at the thought. "How do we not have a calendar?! - Please don't answer that one either," she added quickly, pointing at Lincoln.

"Raven, thank you," Clarke smiled, grabbing her friend's hand. Raven made for an excellent distraction. "For now, there's nothing we really need. It's still early, and we don't even know what we're going to do about it anyway." Bellamy looked at Clarke, confused.

"What does _that_ mean?" he whispered to her.

"Bellamy, now's not a good time," Clarke pleaded softly. She looked at Octavia and Lincoln; now that they were together, she could see it would not be easy separating them again. Lincoln seemed as determined as Bellamy when it came to protecting the woman he loved.

If only she could get everyone else's problems figured out. Then maybe she could have a little time for herself.

"Octavia, what's on the third floor these days?" Clarke asked. She couldn't bring herself to go up there yet. The memories she had of that place… it was where she had asked Bellamy to take darkness onto his soul, for her, and he had done it, for her. For Finn.

"Storage, mostly. Food, and the medical equipment that didn't fit down here."

"So do you think there's enough room left over for a prison?"

Lincoln jumped and turned on her; her betrayal stung. He had just started to believe her.

"Not a real prison, Lincoln. You'd be free to come and go, sort of. But if you want to be near Octavia during her pregnancy, I can't picture a better location. It will keep you safe, and you'll have access to her at all times."

Now it was Bellamy's turn to flinch. _Great,_ Clarke thought,_ I'm pissing everyone off today._ Well, the rest of the day had been shitty. Might as well keep up the trend.

But Bellamy didn't say what he was really thinking. He swallowed the words, leaned into Clarke for a bracing kiss, and without looking at his sister or her... whatever-the-hell-he-was… Bellamy spoke.

"Octavia should be assigned to take care of the prisoner for now. It will take her out of rotation for all the heavier jobs." Everyone stared. Octavia was the first to break the spell. She jumped off the exam table and grabbed her brother's back gleefully in a half-hug.

"Oh Bell, thank you!" she exclaimed, snaking around to kiss him on the cheek. She didn't waste a moment. "Come on, Lincoln, let's get out of here." Octavia smiled up at her warrior, and grabbed his hand as she led him up the ladder.

"I hope you both noticed what I just did there," Bellamy said through gritted teeth as he watched them leave, "Because that was me being the bigger man." Raven grinned at Clarke.

"We saw, big man." Raven laughed and collapsed onto the now-vacant exam table. _What a morning_. She stared at her friends in awe.

"A baby," she whispered. "Damn. I couldn't do it." Clarke blinked quickly and looked away.

"Thank God for my Ark-issued B.C. Shot!" Raven continued, oblivious to Clarke's internal torture. She patted her thigh happily, where the annual birth control injection was always administered.

"You _like_ mandated infertility?" Bellamy asked her, surprised. He rubbed Clarke's back absentmindedly as he spoke to Raven. The frenetic pace seemed to have lulled for the moment, and it was nice to sit and talk quietly before moving on to the next job, the next emergency.

"Hell yeah. No pressure, just fun!" She caught Bellamy's expression then, and sobered up quickly. "Seriously though, I would be a terrible mother. At least right now. Maybe when I'm older; but the only mother I've ever seen in action was pretty damn terrible at it. I wouldn't want to do that to my own kid, y'know?"

"Kid? ...Raven, you know down here you won't be limited to just one child. You can have as many as you want," Bellamy murmured. There was a wistfulness to his voice then.

"How many children do_ you_ want?" Raven asked him, curious. He was the only person she'd ever known who had a sibling. She wondered what it was like.

"I… love Octavia," he began thoughtfully. "I'm different because of her. There are big parts of our life that are total shit, but that's because of what the Ark did to us, not because of each other. And it was just my mom and us, so... I would want to get that part right, too, next time around." Raven's eyes widened. Bellamy had never shared much with her – theirs was a much more utilitarian relationship. She heard the pain beneath the words, though: Octavia was only his sister by blood. Emotionally, she was also at least partly his daughter. No wonder he struggled so much with the day's events.

The friends were brought back to the moment by a choking sound from Clarke. Without looking at either of them, she hopped from the table and pushed for the door.

She just needed to be alone. She needed the peace and quiet of her tent. Clarke crawled into her bed and let herself quietly crumble.

…

On the second floor of the drop-ship, Lincoln stopped Octavia before she could climb further.

"Octavia, are you sure this won't be too hard for you?" He looked up at the ceiling separating them from the room where he'd been beaten, whipped, stabbed, and electrocuted by the very people who were now protecting him. It was disorienting to return to this nightmare. His inclination to run for the woods was tempered only by the presence of Octavia.

"Lincoln, _that _was where you kissed me for the first time," Octavia whispered, pointing through the opening to the third floor. "And beyond that spot is the place where you first told me your name." She pushed up on her toes and stroked his cheek tenderly. "We can re-make that room into anything we want, Lincoln." Her eyes promised a new set of memories, to replace the horrors he had experienced.

"I trust you," he finally answered, but his body was reacting physically at returning to this place. If this was the Healer's idea of a fresh torture, it was working…

The room was so different he almost didn't recognize it. Only half the original room was open; the rest of the space was crammed with bags and boxes. Octavia led him by the hand as they pillaged the supplies, looking for anything to make the room habitable. She knew he was relying on her to help him stay calm; she squeezed his hand, silently promising not to let go.

Some spare quilts were stuffed into a bag in one corner, and Octavia helped Lincoln spread them out into a makeshift bed. The room was warm; it captured all the heat that rose from the floors below, and soon Lincoln was stripping off layers in order to stay comfortable. In the end, he stood before Octavia wearing only a pair of pants and a dark t-shirt.

"Don't stop there," Octavia murmured, enthralled. He smiled then, and started removing his shirt. Octavia had no patience left; she helped him out of his pants and then stepped back with a grin.

"Oh man," she commented, "I missed you." Lincoln didn't bother with words; he lunged forward and crushed her body to his, stripping her hungrily while his lips sought and captured hers yet again.

"This memory will be better," he agreed, spreading Octavia beneath him on the simple down quilt and bending to her breasts, pulling one tender nipple into his mouth. His body responded instantly to her throaty sigh. He hesitated only a moment, only long enough for her eyes to seek out his and beg him to fill the aching need inside her. He granted her wish then, and with every slow, careful movement he watched her face for her response. When her eyes finally rolled shut and her mouth opened in an uncontrolled moan of pleasure, Lincoln felt his heart slam against his ribcage, full of the joy of possessing her and making her happy. They would fill this room with love, he decided, and flush every horror from the place.

...

When Clarke woke up, the sun had drifted most of the way across the sky. The shadows were all wrong, and Bellamy was lounging along the edge of the bed, most of the mud scrubbed off. He was staring at her hard, not even bothering to hide his concern.

"I get the feeling your mom upset you this morning," he began. Clarke frowned, and he mirrored her unconsciously. "Don't do that. I like it when you smile," Bellamy murmured lovingly.

"It's not just her, though," Clarke finally admitted. "Bellamy, you heard Raven, we shouldn't be having children right now."

"That's not what I heard," Bellamy insisted. "I heard Raven say she would be a terrible mother. Just Raven. She didn't say a thing about anyone else."

"But Bellamy, my mother killed my father. And she condemned me to the same fate. Is that supposed to be my parenting model?"

"Your mother has fought for you, tooth and nail, every day of your life. That's a pretty damn good model, if you ask me." He tugged gently on the quilt that covered Clarke, sliding in next to her, fully clothed. His hand sought her waist, gently but firmly pulling her close.

"Clarke. What's really going on?" She bit her lip, knowing it was time to tell him. She couldn't decide what she hoped his reaction would be.

"My mom suggested we end the pregnancy. As the most practical solution." Bellamy tensed next to her, but he said nothing. "I'm… _scared_, Bellamy." He was silent. He was too silent. He was so silent, Clarke twisted up to find his face, to understand what had happened.

She thought perhaps he'd be angry. Or relieved. Or confused. She was not prepared for Bellamy to be scared.

"Bellamy?" she called to him. "Are you okay?"

"Is it done?" he asked her, and his voice cracked. Clarke flinched at the question.

"No, of course not. We have to talk first." Clarke hadn't noticed that Bellamy was not breathing, until he let out a relieved sigh and rolled on top of her, covering her body with his own protectively.

"Please don't do it, Clarke," he begged into her warm smooth shoulder.

Clarke tried to push herself up onto her elbows, but Bellamy was too heavy.

"You're crushing me," she huffed. He lifted his face and Clarke saw the tears sliding down his cheek, just before he brushed them away. He sat up then, moving to the edge of the bed and reaching for Clarke's sketchbook out of habit. He gravitated to these pages whenever he felt lost; her drawings centered him.

"Clarke, life is worth fighting for," he began, sliding his fingers lovingly over each page as he spoke.

"But we have to be realistic," she countered automatically. It was their way of solving problems. Someone was always the Devil's Advocate. "I don't have any of the medical equipment I'd need. We aren't exactly rolling in food, here, either. Starvation is still a possibility. And what about the Grounders? We've avoided violence so far, but eventually it will catch up to us. And… again… I just don't know if I'd be a good mother," she finished quietly.

"You'll be an amazing mother, Clarke. A little bossy, but that's how mothers should be," Bellamy responded instantly. He turned to face her, still holding the sketchbook, and showed her some of her own work.

"Look: You see the little things nobody else thinks matter," he declared, pointing to an exquisitely delicate mushroom she had drawn in one corner. "And you keep your eye on the big picture, too," and he turned the page to show her the sky just before a rainstorm. "Clarke, you're a mother already, 90 times over. We'd all be dead without you," he assured her, grabbing her hands and kissing the translucent skin at her wrists ardently. She smiled.

"What about the _real_ stuff, Bellamy? The delivery, and teaching them how to read, and raising them to be kind?"

"Oh, the real stuff, yes," Bellamy repeated, his face growing mockingly serious. For just a hint of a moment, Clarke thought she saw Jake Griffin peak out from behind Bellamy's long lashes. "You know, Clarke, I have been through all this before. I taught Octavia to read _and_ count; and in general she's a pretty good kid. As for the delivery, you probably don't need the details now, but it's nothing I can't handle."

He had answers for everything.

Clarke closed her eyes and thought about the permanence of whatever choice she made. He interrupted again.

"Clarke, I just … you need to know. Either way, there's a risk for you. Provoking a miscarriage… it's not pleasant. You'll be in pain. And you'll be drinking poison, so you could..." Bellamy looked away and Clarke watched him trying to maintain his composure. He closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. "I just couldn't lose you both," he said finally. "I don't want to lose _either_ of you," he added, his voice tight with anguish.


	15. Chapter 15

_[A/N: I am pretty sure this one merits a warning as to mature content. Things get pretty sexy.]_

_[A/N2: Muchas Gracias to the world's most awesome Beta, Marina Black1, for putting up with some extra-neurotic writer's issues from me these past two chapters!]_

___[A/N3: Oh, you guys. You guys. I have to be honest. The last three chapters have all been leading up to this one. The Muses blessed (cursed?) me with it ages ago, and I'm SO excited to finally be sharing. I hope you like! Warning: it being a holiday weekend, I probably won't be able to post again for several days, but you never know.]_

**"Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother."  
****~ Khalil Gibran**

...

Clarke swallowed hard.

"I would need you, Bellamy," she confessed. "I couldn't do this alone. I know myself well enough to know that. So… if you're asking me to keep this baby, you're also making me a promise." Her breath kept getting stuck in her throat. It was nerve-wracking, sitting here, depending on Bellamy in a new way, a way she was sure neither of them had considered before.

"Okay, Princess, let's go. I have something to show you," Bellamy said at last, grabbing her jacket and handing it to her before opening the tent's flap to usher her outside.

The rain had stopped. It was still miserably grey and cold, but the mind-numbing, soul-crushing downpour was gone. Bellamy clasped her hand and led her to a part of the compound she had not visited in weeks. This was the newest addition to their make-shift town, a series of small huts built using boards salvaged from their barn. She had come often in the first few days, before the teenaged crews learned how to perform carpentry without putting their fingers and eyes in constant jeopardy. But they had gotten better, more efficient, safer. For the past two weeks she had not been called to the construction site at all.

It was amazing to see their progress. Bellamy had made a wise choice, repurposing the barn. Each square hut could sleep four people, and eight of these wooden structures had been completed. Bellamy didn't slow to let her admire the handiwork, though. He pushed on impatiently, until finally they stood a few feet outside the cluster, in front of… a house. It was the only word Clarke could come up with to describe it.

The huts were miserable compared to this. Bellamy grinned as he led her inside, to a large room that Clarke assumed could sleep at least a dozen people.

"This is the public half," Bellamy spoke softly, running one hand proprietarily along the wall. "For meetings, parties, you know." Then he tilted his head to an open door at the other end of the great room. "That's the private section," he explained. Clarke wandered through the doorway ahead of him, and Bellamy watched her for a moment before he followed. The room was small – smaller than any of the huts – and another doorway on the side led through to a third room. Together, these two ran the length of the great room out front… But they were much cozier. Clarke stood in the middle of the last room and admired the craftsmanship. It wasn't quite finished, but clearly the construction teams had become more skilled since those first basic huts. Bellamy slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"_This_ was supposed to happen today, Clarke; not all the rest of it." There was regret in his voice, and also a little grief. "I had them start as soon as I suspected you might be pregnant. We pooled all the building teams together so they could work faster. They just need a few more days." He gingerly turned Clarke around to face him, and frowned at the shocked look on her face.

"There are so many parts of today I would undo for you if I could," he stated. His fingers traveled to her left bicep, where he had grabbed her so carelessly this morning. He was worried there might be a bruise. "This was my gift to you and the baby. But it has to be my apology, too, for hurting you." His voice broke and he stopped, his throat working hard as he searched for enough composure to continue.

"I never meant to, Clarke, I never would." She nodded silently. He sighed and kissed her softly. "And now, I guess you can also take this as my promise, Princess. Because I wouldn't even know _how_ to leave you." His voice cut out abruptly again, and his hands searched out Clarke's still-flat stomach, pressing lightly over the hope she carried there.

Clarke's body responded to his touch with such a primal tug that she gasped at the force of it. She reached for Bellamy's jacket collar and pulled him in for a long kiss, one that opened up and swallowed them, that both were content to maintain for years. She could feel it: the moment their embrace moved from a simple expression of love, to a precursor of more. An electrical charge ran through her from Bellamy and she stripped his jacket from his shoulders without stopping to consider her actions.

Bellamy pulled back for a moment, a teasing smile dancing around the edges of his lips. Clarke tugged his shirt off over his head and then molded herself to his chest.

"Princess, are you sure you're not making the wrong choice, getting stuck with me? Because I still kind of think you are." Behind the laughter in his eyes, Clarke saw the insecurity, haunting him even after all this time. She knew then: nothing that had happened could be undone, and she wouldn't change a thing even if she could. Every moment of anguish had helped transform them both into the people they were now.

"'Choice' was never a part of it, Bellamy. I think… I've been bound to you from the beginning," she confessed. "You've always tried to do the right thing, for Octavia, for me, for all of us. Half the mistakes we've made here are on me, too. You are the best of us, Bellamy Blake." She kissed him with such joy that he laughed in amazement at her. Their mouths opened softly and their breaths mingled; he traced her lips lightly with his tongue and delighted in the surprised groan he caused her. She fought back, though, capturing his lower lip in both her own gently, scraping her teeth along the edge just enough to elicit a groan from him, too.

She knew she was right. Finn _had_ been a choice, and he had been sweet, and careful, and considerate of her. But with Bellamy, she knew, there had never _really_ been any other option. There was always only their need for each other, a kind of terrifying need that left both gasping for air. Clarke willingly succumbed to its power. Bellamy's need for her was selfish and all-consuming, but along for the ride was his fiery need to please her, to make her whole and happy. He could not separate the two, did not even consider trying. The knowledge that she needed him, too, and just as passionately – it shook the core of him, humbled and elated and freed him even as it bound him to her unrepentantly.

Bellamy stopped kissing her only to slip her out of her shirt, then pulled her close and removed her bra smoothly. He swore as he stared at the fresh round fullness of her breasts, and his head fell back for a moment.

"I was right, I don't deserve you," he growled, but Clarke grabbed one hand and laced her fingers through his, staring in renewed wonder at the contrast in their skin tones.

"It seems like a good match to me," she asserted, lifting her mouth up to his again, dragging her exposed breasts across his abdomen. His free hand snaked up to the nape of her neck and he kissed her back feverishly, wanting this moment to last an eternity.

They disposed of the rest of their clothes and sank to the floor of their new house, pressed together tightly, each wanting to belong to the other completely. When Bellamy slipped inside Clarke she moaned at the joy of him; she felt an ache deep in her stomach, a desire to give him everything beautiful and good to make up for all the pain and hurt he had been forced to endure. She writhed under him, reveling in the raw craving he exposed in her. Bellamy stared down at Clarke's simple perfection and wondered how much debt he had on his soul by now, for loving her.

He felt her body tighten, shiver, watched as she panted blissfully, riding ever closer to orgasm. Suddenly Bellamy stopped her; it was too soon, he had so much more to give. He needed to show her how valuable she was to him, that he would spend forever making her happy if he could. She smiled at him and tilted her head to one side, confused.

"Bellamy? Are you okay?" she whispered, twining her fingers into the dark curls at his temple. There was silence as Bellamy collected himself.

"Better," he finally growled back. "I'm whole." She stretched up and kissed him with all her heart, and he gave into her then, surrendering to her need completely.

…

By mid-afternoon Raven was pacing restlessly behind Monty, seated at the radio updating Sinclair, Jaha's communications guy. It was so pointless; the Exodus ships had missed their first drop window by about two weeks, so they were planning what supplies to bring to a reunion that was still several months away. Nobody even knew what the next problem would be by then! Credit to Monty though, he really cared. He finally kicked her out, in fact, when her sarcastic jokes got to be too much for him.

Raven was considering what to do with the last few hours of daylight when she ran into Finn. Hm. That could work. All the baby talk had gotten under her skin; she could use a distraction, and Finn knew exactly how to help her with that.

"Finn! What's up?" she asked him, leaning in for a quick kiss. He smiled at her and explained that the break in the weather meant a chance to gather some more nuts and seeds for dinner.

"Would you care to join me?" he invited her gallantly. She smiled and arched one eyebrow, wondering if he had the same idea she did. As if in answer to her unspoken question, Finn leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "I know a meadow near here that has absolutely no reliable food source." Raven shivered with excitement and followed Finn out through the gate. It was a quick hike to the hilltop field, just enough to help warm them. As they put more distance between themselves and the Wall, their flirting turned into kissing, and by the time they arrived at the clearing Raven and Finn were already struggling out of their layers, eager to take advantage of this window of stolen privacy.

Finn remembered making love to Raven on the Ark – it had always felt a bit dangerous there, like they were possibly breaking… well, if not a law, then at least a social convention. Here on Earth, no such barriers existed. And Finn was quickly learning that Raven had an experimental side, which he enjoyed immensely. Today, though, Raven seemed a little preoccupied as they shed their clothing.

Finn tried to kiss her attention back his way, and was rewarded with a pleased gasp when he slid his hot mouth over her underwear, teasing her, promising her more and then denying it, until she grabbed his face and pulled him up to hers. "Fuck me, Finn Collins," she begged him. "I want to walk crooked for a week."

Finn stripped her underwear off, gave a tender kiss to the hot wet sweetness that lay between Raven's thighs, and entered her quickly. As Finn fucked Raven, he closed his eyes and imagined a slightly altered scene: Clarke, naked and golden-white, twisted around Raven's warm caramel body, tasting her, petting her pert sensitive nipples. He groaned and shivered at the thought of Raven's hands sliding across Clarke's naked flesh, warming the skin over her thighs and stomach as Finn rode her through climax after climax.

Raven was oblivious to what was happening within Finn; she smiled joyously as he crushed himself against her. He held himself in check until just after she came, and then fell beside her, spent but elated. He nibbled her ear gently, laughing when she gasped and shied away.

"Finn! You know that tickles," she laughed and smacked his arm, stretched across her midsection protectively. They enjoyed a few minutes of this simple happiness, wrapped around each other.

"I love you, Finn Collins," Raven finally sighed. "I still can't believe I made it back to you."

"I love you, too," Finn answered. In the hazy warmth that now flooded his brain, Finn knew Raven was his forever, and that she would always be there for him, no matter what. It was comforting, and not in the least bit smothering, to know his whole future lay in her arms.

"You're happy that I'm not pregnant, right?" Raven asked Finn sleepily, pulling his arm more tightly over her and snuggling into his chest.

"Hm? Why would you be pregnant?" Finn smiled indulgently. Raven was funny and brilliant - sometimes he had a hard time keeping up with the frenzy of ideas that seemed to bombard her constantly. She laughed.

"I can't, that's what I'm saying. A kid down here would be the worst."

"Definitely," Finn agreed. His eyes shut as he nuzzled into her neck. The chill of the air was becoming more noticeable now, and he knew they would need to head back soon, but for now this was enough.

Raven was warm, cocooned inside Finn's gentle embrace, and she felt safe. She felt so safe, in fact, that anyone could forgive her for the momentary lapse in memory. It had been almost two months since Clarke and Finn had even spoken to each other; in that same time, the women had grown so close that Raven was genuinely concerned for her friend. She opened her mouth one last time.

"Poor Clarke, man. I don't know how she's going to do it."

…

Clarke couldn't stop smiling as she and Bellamy walked to the drop-ship the next morning. The horrors of yesterday were gone; it had been a terrible nightmare of a day, one that needed to be put far behind them. Bellamy kept glancing at her as they walked, trying to keep his own smile in check; she finally stopped, resting her hand on her hip and turning to face him.

"What?" he asked her defensively, that treacherous smile still trying to escape.

"Yes, that's my question, too," she responded. "What is it, Bellamy?" He laughed then, and the sound was a warm blanket that enveloped her.

"I'm just happy, Princess. It's… nice," he explained, catching her hand in his own and running his thumb over her soft, clean knuckles.

"How do your hands look like this?" he asked her, holding them up for inspection. Everyone else had long ago developed rough calloused palms and ragged fingernails. Not Clarke.

"You need me to keep people alive, and I need these hands to do that, so I take care of them." She grinned archly. "You know, around here they may be priceless," she added playfully. Bellamy, thinking of last night, grinned back. He had to agree, they were pretty damn incredible.

"Are you going to be with Octavia today?" Bellamy asked cautiously as they picked their way forward once again.

"And Lincoln, yes. You should join us," Clarke offered.

"No, I think I'll stand guard. It will be more comfortable for everyone," Bellamy said with a slight shake of his head. Clarke knew he was right, but it concerned her. She and Octavia would be dealing with a lot of issues together as their pregnancies progressed, and if Bellamy refused to be a part of what Lincoln and Octavia shared, he would miss parts of his own child's development, as well.

Lincoln and Octavia waited until Clarke knocked on the third floor's hatch to signal they'd be safe descending. The air between Clarke and Lincoln was still frosty, but she knew not to push him yet. It would take time for him to learn who she really was. She hoped the irrepressible optimism of Octavia would help warm things between them, too.

Raven had been right: a calendar would help them track the pregnancies' progress. Clarke was relieved to have something to do, rather than sitting and worrying. The clinical aspects of her pregnancy were her source of comfort; it was the intangible that frightened her. She was reminded of her dependence on Bellamy to hold that terror at bay. Octavia, though, seemed to have no fears about any of it.

"There could be complications," Clarke tried again to explain. Lincoln shifted uncomfortably as she spoke; he obviously understood what Clarke was trying to say, and wished Octavia would take the warning more seriously. One hand clung possessively to Octavia's knee as Clarke began penciling important milestones into the calendar they had sketched onto the med bay wall.

…

Finn walked up to the ship looking distracted. He stopped and moaned when he noticed Bellamy standing guard at the entrance.

"Where's Clarke? Let me see her." Bellamy stiffened and crossed his arms with finality.

"You're not going in there, Spacewalker," he warned. Finn looked like he hadn't slept all night, and when he spoke again, it was clear he was in a foul mood.

"You know what? I have had just about enough of your bullshit, Bellamy. You're not better than the rest of us, and you can't tell me what to do." He tried to push past the larger man.

"Don't embarrass yourself," Bellamy grinned, blocking his way easily.

"Just tell me if it's true!" Finn yelled, frustrated. "Is Clarke… ?" His emotions overtook him and the question hung in the air.

Bellamy stared at him silently, refusing to answer. It was none of the Spacefucker's business.

"She is." Finn ran his hands through his long brown hair and his face blanched. "What the hell, man? You thought you could just hide it from me? I was going to find out eventually."

"It has nothing to do with you," Bellamy shot back.

"It has EVERYTHING to do with me!" Finn roared.

Bellamy stared at Finn, panting with anger, and the horror of his true meaning crept up Bellamy's spine with icy fingers, reaching out like death for his suddenly racing heart.

"You think the baby's yours." It wasn't a question, the way Bellamy said it. It was a statement, laced with violent intent.

"Hell yes, I think that baby's mine!" Finn answered back angrily, refusing to back down. Bellamy laughed in disbelief.

"We all make mistakes, Finn, and you were hers. It's time to let it go, don't you think?"

"Fuck you, Bellamy," Finn's hands curled into angry fists. He hated Bellamy Blake. The man shouldn't even be down here. What right did he have, to come among them and take whatever he wanted, as if they were all his little children? Especially Clarke. Finn didn't even care about the rest of it. But Clarke shouldn't belong to Bellamy. She belonged to him. "Clarke was mine first." Bellamy's laugh curled under Finn's fingernails and ripped a searing line of fury up his spine.

"You think Clarke belongs to anyone? You're a bigger dick than I realized, Finn." He leaned in closer, his voice lower now. "I dare you to say that to her face."

Finn's world went bright white and all he could see was that mocking smile in front of him, begging to be hit. He gave in to it, swinging blindly for Bellamy's face.

Bellamy deflected the throw easily. Finn was no fighter; he had no training, and he hadn't spent enough time around Bellamy's men to get involved in one of their near-daily brawls.

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I'm going to let you anywhere near Clarke, ever again," Bellamy warned him in a low, controlled voice. "That baby is ours, and if you value your life at all, you'll drop this. Forever."

"You can't just get rid of me, Bellamy. I have as much right to be here as you. So don't tell me what I can and cannot do!" Finn was aching for a lesson.

"I'll banish you, Spacewalker, if you pull this shit again."

"For what, talking? Wanting to step up, take care of what's mine?"

Bellamy punched him. It was stupid, and it hurt like a bitch, and it was also so fucking satisfying, that sharp heat as some part of Finn's face tore open the skin across Bellamy's knuckles, but he invited the pain because it was nothing compared to the wet explosion Finn had just endured. Bellamy was fairly sure he had broken the kid's nose.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Clarke asked from behind him. Bellamy spun around and hoped it didn't look as bad as he was sure it did. Clarke had both hands on her hips. Not a good sign.

"Clarke, tell him the baby is mine!" Finn begged her. He was kneeling on the ground near Bellamy, his hands cupped around his face as he bled all over the ground.

Bellamy watched Clarke's face change at Finn's words; he saw her thinking, calculating. And his heart broke in half as she looked at him in horror.

"I… don't know," she confessed.


	16. Chapter 16

_[A/N: My Beta for this project, Marina Black1, has a new fic for The 100 called Perdition. It is crazy, and dark, and beautiful, and if you secretly love the creepy underdog you should head over there right away. Tell her I sent you!]_

_[A/N: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all those brave generous souls who've taken time to comment/review. I love knowing people have opinions about what I've done… and boy did y'all have opinions on that last chapter! I love it! Please keep them coming - I will try to be better about responding, as well!]_

_..._

**"When love beckons to you, follow him,  
Though his ways are hard and steep.  
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,  
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you."  
****~Khalil Gibran**

"So, I see we're drinking our lunches now."

Bellamy looked up from his seat at the edge of Charlotte's empty grave. Raven stood a few feet away, arms folded, eyes almost dead beneath her heavy lids. He took another sip of Monty's moonshine, and his own eyes watered as the fire seared down his throat.

"You look like shit," he answered her, although not unkindly. She eyed him critically, then crossed to his side and sank down onto the frozen ground. He was a mess.

"Well, I guess that means I'm at the right party." Bellamy handed Raven the metal thermos and she threw back a quick, hard mouthful.

"Hey! That's basically rocket fuel. You might want to take it easy," he warned her. She just smiled.

"You may not be a regular drinker, Bellamy, but where I come from this stuff would _actually _be served at lunch." She didn't bother to hide the thick tears that started at the mention of Mecha station. "You know, just yesterday Monty asked if we really need the Ark, and I remember thinking, 'Shit, Ark Raven was a lot less happy than Earth Raven!' ...Damn. Who knew?" She laughed bitterly. Bellamy looked away, staring out into the woods.

"Why did we come down here, Raven?" he asked, his voice barely even a whisper. "You and I, we're the ones who don't belong. We're not supposed to be here. Maybe this is our punishment, for trying to cheat Fate," he sighed with defeat. Raven's face clouded.

"Fate? Well that's bullshit. This is all just because an asshole couldn't keep his dick in his pants for longer than a few days, and then went and made everything worse with his selfishness." Bellamy looked at her askance as she took another angry gulp of moonshine.

"I didn't think you'd see it that way."

"Oh? How was I supposed to react? By weeping into my pillow?" She laughed again, as if she had _not_ just spent most of last night doing exactly that.

"I thought you'd hate Clarke," he answered quietly. She nodded somberly at his comment, and passed the thermos back his way. Bellamy tried to match her, taking a larger pull of the hot foul stuff, and coughed heavily. He leaned back on one elbow and stretched his legs toward Charlotte's gravesite.

"It's probably better like this anyway," he sighed. "I've messed up everything with Octavia. I messed up Charlotte, too, even worse. Maybe Spacewalker can do a better job." Raven lay back next to him and sighed as she stared up through the branches overhead.

"When we were younger, I would have said yes," she admitted. "But as we got older, and he understood better just how real all my shit was, it changed. That's when he started with the damn spacewalks. I made excuses for a lot of it, but… Finn's happier when he can be a little boy. This thing with the baby: he thinks he wants it, thinks a little Finn/Clarke hybrid will be all cute and snuggly." Bellamy tensed at a mental snapshot of them, standing together, a beautiful happy family. "But really, the minute it gets rough Bellamy, he'll be gone." At her calm assertion Bellamy's thoughts shifted.

He considered Raven's life on the Ark, the maternal neglect and Finn's kindness to her from such a young age. Raven had been raised on starvation, both literal and figurative; she was primed to see _any_ small kindness as an act of true love. How different their experiences, despite the surface similarities. His own mother had made choices that burned Bellamy's soul, but he never doubted her affection, her fierce loyalty to her children. There were the colorful and dramatic bedtime stories of ancient heroes and their brave heroines; there was the scraping and sacrifice of her own rations, to help her children have more; there were childhood illnesses battered back by her strong cool fingers on hot frightened brows; and eventually, of course, there was the barter of her own body to meet their material needs.

Bellamy would always hate the unknown man who had abandoned Aurora, who had walked away from his family and left her to sink so low. He knew in the deepest parts of himself that he could never let that happen again.

"He probably thinks he loves her, though, in his own way," Raven admitted, interrupting the reverie.

"That must piss you off."

Raven shrugged at his words; pissed, yes, but not at Clarke like he thought. Not anymore. As the women had grown closer, Raven had come to understand the depth of Clarke's feelings for Bellamy, and everything had shifted. She sometimes wondered, though, if Bellamy realized how badly Clarke had fallen for him.

"It pissed me off a lot, at first. When I thought she might love him back." She closed her eyes and felt her muscles relaxing under the onslaught of Monty's moonshine. "You're getting yourself good and drunk, so you're basically useless right now," Raven noted, "And I'm sure we all feel really bad for you. But you can't just back off and think you're being noble."

"I don't want to, Raven. But if the baby's his…"

"That's a big 'if' you know."

"Yes, but _if_, then he deserves to be raised by his father." Raven opened her eyes and looked over at the sad sack stretched beside her. What a fucking mess. She needed to stop his spiraling. She leaned over, and in one quick move grabbed his collar and kissed him hard on the lips. To Bellamy's moonshine-soaked brain, it was as good as a bucket of cold water. He jerked back and stared in shock at Raven Reyes as she wiped her mouth against the back of her hand. She gave him a little smile of apology.

"Sorry, but I thought bitch-slapping your sorry drunk ass would be too mean. That baby doesn't need to be raised by the man who helped make her, you fool! She needs to be raised by the man who loves her mother more than he loves his own life."

She watched the words sink like bright pebbles through the haze of alcohol, watched Bellamy's face harden in resolution. He stood, a little wobbly but determined, and held out a hand to assist Raven. Once she was up, he gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder – and the last of the moonshine.

"I have to go. And… thank you." He turned but after a few steps he looked back at her. "What about you? Are you going to be okay?"

"Me?" She smiled, but it was a little shaky. "I'm not okay yet, but I will be. I just need to … _not _need someone else. At least for a little while."

…..

Clarke had fallen asleep on one of the exam tables, a dirty rag still clenched in her hand from cleaning up Finn's blood. At the sound of Bellamy entering the ship, her eyes fluttered open. She sat up, relieved, and dropped the cloth to the floor with a happy smile. Her hands floated gently to her womb when he stepped toward her.

Bellamy saw the protective move and wondered if she was somehow trying to shield the baby from him. He paused, uncertain; Clarke caught a brief unsteadiness to his movements, and her eys narrowed. She sniffed at the air.

"You're drunk," she accused him.

"I got close." He swiped his fingers through his dark hair and frowned. "It was kind of terrible. Now I remember why I avoid it." The loss of self-control was disorienting; he could tell he was still a bit vulnerable even now, and did not like the feeling at all.

Clarke eyed him carefully; every now and then, they would inadvertently stumble into a conversation where she suddenly had to be more cautious than usual in her word choices. Usually he could forgive her bluntness, but there were just some topics, like Octavia… and Finn… where Bellamy's patience wore thin more quickly. Clarke didn't get it right every time, although she knew she was getting better. In this case, though, she wondered if there was even a right way to talk to Bellamy about the morning's events.

He solved the problem for her, striding the last few feet between them and sinking to his knees when he reached her. He placed his own strong hands over Clarke's, still cradling her belly.

"You can't take this baby from me," he begged her. "I don't care how it happened, it's ours now."

"You say that now…" she began, but he shook his head and stared up at her.

"If it's _not_ his, what will he do? Stay, and raise another man's child? You know him, Clarke." She reached for Bellamy's mop of curls, and tried not to let the hormones take over. She knew the tears were there, ready to fall, but she was sick and tired of crying.

"That's the difference between him and me, Princess." He paused and wrapped his hands around her waist protectively.

"I don't need to raise _my_ child with you. I only want to be allowed to raise _your_ child with you."

"Dammit, Bellamy!" Clarke groaned in frustration as her will lost the battle and the tears started again.

"I just want all this to be over." He stood abruptly, looking at her in panic. "No, not the baby; all the drama. Really, if it _is_ Finn's and he's serious, how can I stop him from being a part of the baby's life?"

"I should have just let Jasper pull out that knife," Bellamy muttered darkly. Clarke wondered at the reference, but not enough to ask about it. Instead she bent for the fallen rag and turned back to the exam table and the last of Finn's drying blood, letting the tears fall silently as she scrubbed.

Bellamy gently pulled the square of cloth from her hands and continued where she had stopped. She watched him work, frustrated, scared, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms, falling asleep to the rhythm of his huge, fearless heart…

His heart… Heartbeats…

"Ultrasound!" Clarke shouted into the silence. Bellamy jumped and swore.

"Bellamy, there were old ultrasound machines at the hospital! In Winchester! Come on, we have to go, right now! We need to take Monty or Raven, they'll be able to tell if we can salvage any of the units, and if we can patch them in to the ship's solar panels. Hurry!" Clarke wiped her face and, with renewed purpose, reached for her bag on the counter. She began throwing supplies together for the trek. Bellamy stepped up behind her and reached forward, grabbing her wrist lightly but firmly. Clarke knew what he was going to say, and she sighed in frustration.

"I can't let you go, Princess," he said. His voice carried the apology to her as gently as possible, his breath drifting across her shoulder as he formed himself around her. "You need to rest, and keep yourself healthy. You're most at risk right now. Besides, I can't carry you that far, and you're up to about four naps a day," he added in a more teasing tone. He pressed into her softly as he spoke, and she bit her lips together at the heat she felt deep in her hips when he moved against her like this. "At that rate, it would be weeks before we made it home," Bellamy continued idly.

Clarke deflated against him, leaning back into his body, and he wrapped his arms around her. She knew he did it on purpose; Bellamy was all-too-aware of how calming she found it, curled up in the Clarke-shaped cavity formed by his chest and arms.

"You've been forced through too much already. I will bring you anything you need, I promise, but you have to sit this one out." Clarke knew he was right. That didn't mean she had to like it. She spun lightly to face him, and leaned back enough to watch his face as she spoke.

"You should leave tonight, then."

"No."

"Yes! Why waste time?" Bellamy frowned at her. _Stubborn Princess_. She refused to see he _couldn't_ leave like this, with the uncertainty of Finn so fresh in everyone's thoughts. Bellamy needed a chance to remind her of why he was the better man.

"I won't leave you tonight, Clarke. Stop fighting me on this. Tomorrow, at first light. We'll be better rested, and we'll make good time. The right crew can get there and back in two and a half days, if we plan carefully."

She didn't push further, because it suddenly occurred to her that she would be without him for the first time in months. Since that night in the crevasse as they began their scouting trip - back when she was still certain he hated her, and mostly sure she hated him – they had not spent a night apart.

Octavia came sliding down the ladder then, and squawked in pretend embarrassment to catch her brother in such an intimate moment with Clarke.

"Man, if _only_ you two had somewhere _private_ you could go, so you wouldn't have to torture the rest of us." Her face drained of color suddenly. Clarke grabbed her a bucket just in time, although Octavia's stomach was so empty it was hardly necessary.

"See, Bellamy, it's so gross it's making me sick," she laughed weakly. He crossed to her and rubbed gentle circles down her back, until Lincoln appeared through the hatch and the two men froze.

"Where were you?" Bellamy demanded as his temper flared briefly, although not as hot as usual. "She's down here being sick, and you couldn't be bothered?"

Lincoln eyed him but did not respond. Instead he kneeled down by Octavia and held out a handful of roots and berries.

"I told you not to go until you ate something," he reprimanded her gently. "I picked out the ones that could make it worse. These will be safe." Bellamy flushed at the tenderness Lincoln showed his sister, and turned back to Clarke. She had a thoughtful look on her face. Part of him feared that look.

"Lincoln. If I told you I knew of equipment that could help me monitor the baby's progress, what would you say?"

"Dammit Clarke," Bellamy slammed his hand against the exam table. "Just one time, I'd like to be consulted!" Clarke shot him an annoyed look and turned back to Lincoln.

"Where is it?" Lincoln looked around the medical bay with care; he still found it a little too foreign.

"Not here. It's at an old hospital in Winchester, a town near here."

"In the valley."

"You know it?" Clarke asked him. He nodded warily.

"We don't go west often," he admitted, "But I know the stories. I will go, if it will help Octavia."

"It will, Lincoln, it will make all the difference in the world!" Clarke reached out to the tall dark man and he flinched away. Bellamy caught the moment of shame and grief on Clarke's face, even though she recovered quickly. He filed the snub for future reference against the Grounder.

"I do _not _like this, Clarke," he declared, eyeing Lincoln warily.

"You need at least three people," Clarke pointed out.

"I know."

"Strong, fast people who know their way around."

"Clarke," Bellamy warned.

"Well? If you can find someone stronger than Lincoln to help you carry everything back, that's fine. Otherwise, he goes." Clarke's hands gravitated to her hips again, in that stubborn way Bellamy knew all too well. The conversation was closed.

"Fine. I want Raven to go, too, then," Bellamy countered, stepping toward her with his arms crossed. Raven had no qualms about using violence – she had electrocuted Lincoln for information. She would be willing to cross moral lines Monty probably didn't even know existed, if it came to it.

"Fine," Clarke shot back, mirroring his actions, moving forward defiantly.

"Okay!" With a final step, Bellamy moved into Clarke's personal space. He loved the way her cheeks colored slightly whenever she rose to his bait.

Octavia looked at the two of them, inches apart, and smiled at the heat they radiated. Bellamy had given up everything normal for Octavia, including any hope of a romantic life. She could not believe how lucky he was to stumble into Clarke's world. As a teenager on the Ark, Octavia had wondered what kind of girl would ever be good enough for Bellamy. Now she knew.

Another wave of nausea interrupted her thoughts. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and grabbed blindly for Lincoln, who swept her up easily. He looked at Clarke with concern.

"I thought this was called morning sickness?"

"For a lot of women, it's really 'Morning, Noon, and Night' sickness." She sighed and reached for one of several canisters Jasper had prepared for her weeks ago; she had not realized how useful they'd be. "It's important Octavia stay hydrated. Take this; you can make a tea with it. Peppermint will help with the nausea." She held on to the jar of lemon balm for now. She would need the anti-anxiety herb herself over the next few days, until Bellamy returned to her.

…

"I can't guarantee he'll survive this trip," Bellamy warned Clarke as they lay together that night. He curled one long strand of golden hair through his fingers endlessly; she sprawled over his bare chest.

"If you kill Lincoln, you'll answer to Octavia," Clarke responded mildly. She had no doubt Bellamy _would _kill… for the right reasons. But Lincoln had proven he cared for the youngest of the Blake siblings, and even Bellamy could see the benefit of the Grounder's protection. Octavia was growing up in fast-forward here on Earth; she was bright, but there were things about life she had never experienced first-hand, and Lincoln was an asset in this world populated with felons of all varieties and temperaments.

"What happens after, Clarke? Does she follow him back to that cave, with the baby?"

"Is that your decision to make?" Clarke laughed gently. "And why are you worried about a problem that's so far away? We have enough problems right here and now." Bellamy sighed.

"I wish I could bring you with me," he assured her. "But you know why."

"Yes, and I don't like it, but you're right. I'll be okay. Octavia and I can finally have that slumber party we've been planning," she teased. Bellamy kissed the top of her head, and she sighed with content, pulling herself up to look him in the eye. "I'm more worried about you, actually. I didn't like Lincoln's comment about the Grounders' 'stories' of the valley."

"How many times has he gone? And how many times have you and I been there? I think we know what to expect, more than he does." His warm eyes sparkled at her, and his lips curled in an enticing smile. Damn, he was beautiful.

"Hm. Okay, I trust you... But Bellamy? You come back to me. Two and a half days. That's all you get. After that, I _will_ come find you, and I _will_ kill you." Bellamy laughed at this stubborn, beautiful, brilliant woman in his arms.

"I promise, Princess," he said as his fingers inched down the skin of her back and finally grabbed her strong thighs. She gasped as he flipped her carefully, expertly onto her back, and bent over her. The moment was stained by a flicker of doubt in Bellamy's eyes. _Not good._ Clarke put her hand against his chest to stop him.

"Wait. Where did you go just now? Because you weren't here with me." Bellamy sighed, but didn't move. Clarke's hands ran up his arms to his shoulders. The silence deepened a moment longer.

"Ah." She sighed. This was getting ridiculous. "I don't really want Finn in bed with us, if that's okay with you."

"He doesn't really love you, Clarke," Bellamy declared. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck react to his statement. They had always avoided that word with each other, through unspoken agreement. It carried too much weight for both of them. Half of her wanted him to stop talking; the other half begged him to continue.

"But _I_ do," he whispered, the words barely an exhale at all. It was so quiet she thought she had imagined it.

"I love you so much I'm scared it will eat me alive," he continued, his voice stronger now as he stared down at her, at the honest blue eyes that made him want to be a better man, the lips that offered solace against the darkness of his heart, the halo of golden hair that drew him like a moth from across a room, a ship, a camp, a forest.

"I…" Clarke's hormones won again, and she hastily brushed at the tears that sprang up unannounced. They blurred Bellamy's face, and she wanted to watch his face forever.

"I love you, too. With my whole heart, I love you, Bellamy Blake."


	17. Chapter 17

_[A/N: Oh my dears, I am in so much pain. I needed to post this now because tonight's episode was… oh my heart hurts so much. It hurts for every one of those tortured souls. Fair warning: Marina Black1, my beta for – well, everything – hasn't reviewed this chapter. I am sure once she gives me notes, I'll go back and tidy things. I often go back and refine things, actually! Please continue your wonderful feedback!]_

_..._

**"When love beckons to you, follow him,  
Though his ways are hard and steep.  
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,  
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you."  
~Khalil Gibran**

…

She was having a dream. She was certain. A nightmare? Probably. The darkness hugging at the edges of sight, where the terror paced and whined in hunger… The falling, tumbling, upside-down sensation, even though she walked steadily from an empty room into a lush midnight garden into the aging Ark in search of something… No, some_one_… And there was the hallway. Her pulse quickened, and the echo of it shook the walls around her. She remembered the monster at the end of the hall. But it would be okay. Because he would come to her now, to stop her before she took this next step. He always came to her right around here, before she had to face It. He would come, and he would bring the day to her and this would end. Where was he? Why was he letting this happen? Her body cooled with dread but she had no choice, she kept walking. Floating, maybe. Closer to the monster. She knew It, saw Its terrible blue eyes and flaxen mane and twisted sneer in every mirror that now filled the hall. It had won. It had beaten him, had taken him and crushed him and she was alone with her monster - and the grief rushed into her lungs so she couldn't breathe and she tried to exhale, to push it out, and finally the grief poured back out of her in the form of his name –

"Clarke! Stop! Clarke!" Octavia shook her shoulder hard, frightened by the intensity of Clarke's nightmare. The way she had screamed Bellamy's name, like it was being torn right out of her skin… Octavia shuddered.

That was the wrong voice, but Clarke grabbed at it like a lifeline, and followed it back to consciousness. Her eyes snapped open.

"Octavia?" Clarke whispered hesitantly into the blackness. A frustrated sigh and the rustle of bedding nearby oriented Clarke better in the dark space.

"No offense, Clarke, but damn - is this what you're like every night?"

Clarke stared up at the only source of light in the drop-ship's third floor: a small window through which she could see the night sky like a patch of deep indigo, dusted with diamond powder. It was a cloudless night, which meant the snow had finally stopped. All that would be left was a bitter cold, stabbing through everyone.

"I think so. Maybe," she confessed. Octavia swore like her brother.

Clarke missed Bellamy, missed the safety of his arms, but really, more than her own selfish need for him, Clarke worried about his safety. She had been with him on every other trip to the valley, and each time they had gone, they had uncovered a fresh danger. What if somebody were injured, and it was beyond the scope of their first aid skills? How would they make it back to her?

Octavia yawned and groped for the canteen of water near her head. Clarke threw back her cover and grabbed her clothes.

"You're getting up now, aren't you?" Octavia groaned. "It's not even daylight, Clarke."

"Yes, but there's so much to do," Clarke insisted. She stood quickly; too quickly. Bright pricks of white and orange burst onto the edges of her vision and she swayed for a moment. _No time, Clarke,_ she reprimanded herself. She had no time for weakness. Without Bellamy the whole compound was relying on her leadership. While some of the more specialized teams operated so smoothly she occasionally forgot to check in with them, there were plenty of things that required her constant vigilance.

_Food._ The intensity of the craving nearly crowded out her mental to-do list. She was ravenous.

"Octavia, I need to eat." Octavia let out a tortured sound.

"Yuck. Please just don't say it out loud!"

"Fine, but you need something, too. I'll be back in a few." Clarke slid down the ladders to her med bay, where she had quite recently taken to stashing extra snacks.

"You're up early."

"Oh, shit! - Sorry, Monty. I didn't see you," Clarke panted, startled by the gentle voice in the corner.

"No worries." Monty turned back to the radio. He seemed preoccupied.

"Everything okay?" Clarke wandered over. It was a foreign world, these wires that led to… nowhere, really… and yet also, somehow, they led back to the Ark. Her father would have been able to explain it to her in a way she could grasp, but ultimately she took after her mother. At least all the pieces in the human body were connected.

"It's fine, I just had this idea about being able to rig something so we could download data from the Ark. But I need Raven." He frowned, and by the light of the tiny blue lamp on his desk Clarke thought she saw something… else… in his eyes.

"I know you miss her, Monty," she smiled. He shifted uncomfortably.

"No, it's not… it's just… and anyway, they'll be back today, right?" Clarke cursed him silently. Out of a strange unspoken but shared superstition, she and Octavia had not mentioned the deadline aloud. Monty had ruined that now.

"I have to check on Octavia," Clarke offered, trying to excuse herself.

"She's not actually sick, is she?" Monty asked. Clarke froze.

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody could survive two weeks of a stomach flu that severe, Clarke," Monty pointed out simply. "But a lot of women survive some pretty terrible morning sickness." Clarke sat down next to him. He was so sweet and unassuming, people often forgot just how smart Monty really was.

"So, how many are there?" he asked. She clutched her fist against her stomach, wondering if he suspected.

"Octavia can't be the only one," Monty continued, oblivious. The weak lantern had hidden Clarke's involuntary reaction. "People are having sex just… out of boredom. So how are you going to figure out who else is pregnant?"

Clarke finally realized what Monty was suggesting. She had spent so much time worrying about herself and helping Octavia, she hadn't done the math. Of the 87 people still alive in the camp, 40 were females of child-bearing age. That was an additional 38… well, no, not Raven at this point… 37 possible pregnancies.

"Oh, holy _shit,_" she whispered into the chilly air. "Monty, we need birth control."

"I'm open to suggestions," he answered, "But my strength is really terrible alcohol - and that tends to do the opposite of what you need."

Clarke tapped her fingers against the edge of the table.

"Okay. When Raven gets back, you figure out that… data download… thing. Top priority is Earth Skills texts. And every antique medical text in my mother's library. No point reading the up-to-date stuff when our tools are a century old."

"I'm on it."

"And Monty… I miss her too."

…

Clarke knew she needed to do her actual job, but walking around the compound led to potential… complications. She needed a buffer. Octavia's morning sickness wasn't quite as pronounced as it had been a week ago, so Clarke waited until they had both eaten before suggesting Octavia shadow her on her rounds today. Apparently, she wasn't as subtle as she thought.

"You're avoiding Finn, aren't you?" Octavia challenged her. Clarke laughed defensively.

"No, I just want to make sure I have eyes on you," she claimed. Octavia stared at her. "Ok, yes, I'm _also_ hoping to avoid Finn." She brushed her hair off her face and stood.

"So let's go. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can imprison ourselves in here again." There was a fluttering in her gut that wouldn't leave, a sense that today would not go the way she wanted it to, but she couldn't give in to that.

They crunched their way over the snow to the carpenters, most of whom were finalizing Bellamy's house. In just the past few days, they had completed the floors and installed doors. The holes that would eventually become windows now sported shutters, and the interior was dark but warm with them closed. When the shutters were thrown open – which Octavia and Clarke did immediately – the rooms were filled with a stunning northern light that Clarke instantly knew had been Bellamy's doing; these were an artist's rooms, built just for her. Her heart burned with his absence.

"Clarke." The voice came from just outside the windows. Clarke closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself for the conversation, then leaned out.

"Hi, Finn." His face looked better than it had two days ago. She had done her best to straighten the nose, but she was still concerned he might end up with a slight bend, just enough to serve as a perpetual reminder of the fight. "Your bruising is way down," she said as cheerfully as she could.

"I'm not here for medical advice," Finn said, walking up to the window. Clarke pulled back into the room, her room, this place Bellamy had made for her. Octavia was there, a hand at the ready if she needed it, but instead Clarke wrapped the room itself around her, like a cloak.

"Finn. When Raven and Bellamy get back, they'll have equipment with them that will answer all our questions. But until then, I need you to back off. For the baby."

"Seriously, Finn. It's not cool anymore, it's just creepy," Octavia added. Clarke cracked a smile in spite of herself.

"So let me get this straight. You don't want me to be a father, but you're absolutely willing to use the baby's health as leverage against me?" Finn's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Clarke watched his expressive face, partially hidden behind the raccoon mask of purple bruises. She waited to feel guilty… but it never came.

"Turns out I am," she replied calmly.

…

"Hi, Mom."

"Clarke!" Abby's voice was warm, but she didn't waste time. She knew the radio connection was too valuable to waste. "Did you check with the Agro kids? I found the ingredients list for them." There was a pause from her end of the radio. "I have to be honest, I'm a little worried about this. I didn't really consider how exact we'll need to be. The quantities are very dependent on -"

"I won't do it," Clarke declared. "I'm keeping the baby, Mom." Again, Clarke found herself listening to silence.

"Listen to me Clarke, I know it's hard to think about this rationally, but -"

"Rationally. You want me to be rational - like you were when you turned Dad in?" Clarke had no patience for her mother today. Not on this day. Not as every ticking minute brought Bellamy closer to her.

"Honey," the voice on the other side was thick with pain. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"And I think you believe that now, too, Mom. In fact, I'm sure you do. But you're not here. It's not like you think down here," she began. She wanted to tell her mother about the simple wooden houses on the edge of the camp, about the teams of teenagers right outside, sewing animal skins into capes and grinding dried seaweed for the medical stores. She wanted to describe the beauty and improbability of Octavia and Lincoln. Mostly though, she wanted to share Bellamy, his strength and conviction, and his love for her. But she opened her mouth and the words froze in her chest. Abby Griffin wouldn't understand it, no matter how hard Clarke tried.

"I'm stronger than I knew," she finished. On the other end of the radio, Clarke heard a small choking sob.

"We found some old ultrasound equipment," Clarke moved on. It would be a mistake to let her mother's tears overtake them both. "Our tech people are working on a way to access the Ark's data. I don't think we could upload to you yet, but if you can start gathering information for us that would be a big help. Especially basic medical texts, from before the war. And anything on medicinal herbs from this area." She realized she sounded as clinical as her mother, and paused to breathe.

"Mom? I know it's silly but… we don't have a calendar down here. What day is it?" She sounded so small when she asked it. Abby cleared her throat and tried to calm down.

"It's uh, December 28th. Four days to the new year." Clarke nodded. She had overheard Sinclair and Monty discussing the next launch window; March 15th seemed so far away right now.

…

Raven stumbled through the gate shortly after lunch. Monroe caught her before she fell, and dragged her to Miller.

"Where's Bellamy?" he demanded of the exhausted girl.

"Get Clarke," Raven panted. She shut up after that, and Miller paced impatiently as Monroe ran for the med bay.

Clarke was not in the ship; Monty, turning in surprise at Monroe's intrusion, said he thought she had gone to check on Claire's twisted knee. Monroe took off again, but as she left, Monty heard her muttering to herself about Raven's bossiness. _Raven?_ He leapt up and headed for the main campfire, the group's informal gathering place. She was there, leaning heavily against Miller's strong shoulder. Monty's jaw worked for a moment before he caught himself. He walked up to them and smiled at Raven.

"Hi there," he began quietly. "Everything okay?" Raven smiled weakly at her friend.

"Monty, hey. No, everything isn't okay. We need Clarke." Monty's face changed very little, but his eyes darkened. Nobody said "we need Clarke" that way unless someone was hurt.

She came running up just then, a terrified look on her face, and Raven felt so sorry for her friend.

"Raven, talk to me." The small group around Clarke ached for her, at her desperate attempt to stay calm. The pregnancy might be a closely guarded secret, but Bellamy's devotion to Clarke was the stuff of legend.

"They're at the barn," Raven explained. "I don't think it's too bad, but we didn't feel like he should try to walk back."

"Is he conscious?" Clarke barked. Now that she knew he was at least alive, she could breathe again. Alive she could do. She could work wonders with alive. Raven nodded and managed a smile.

"Conscious and pissed, actually. Lincoln had to carry him."

"I can only imagine," Clarke sighed. She looked around them at the growing crowd.

"Mei? Where are you?" The small Asian girl who had been helping in the med bay was nowhere to be seen. _Dammit._

"Monty, you take Raven back to the drop-ship. Find Mei; have her check out Raven. I suspect it's mostly dehydration and exhaustion, but we'll monitor her just in case. Oh! And Monty, get Octavia to help, too." Raven would need to talk to Octavia, to explain what had happened. "Miller? Go with them. Raven will tell you what to pack in my med bag. Catch up when you're done." With her mouth pressed into a thin determined line, Clarke strode toward the gate. No need to look back. She had watched Bellamy do it hundreds of times. If you didn't look back, they knew it meant you trusted them to get it done.

She half-jogged along the path that led to the barn, by now a well-established route. The snow from last night hid much of the unevenness, and she had to move carefully along the track. She would be useless to Bellamy if she injured herself before she even got there. Miller caught up within fifteen minutes, and silently handed over her bag. Without breaking stride, Clarke ripped it open to see what Raven had included. The contents were not promising. There was a lot of dried seaweed, more than seemed possible for one person to use. Maybe Raven had panicked a little. But there were also several suture kits and a lot of bandaging material. Clarke bit her lip and closed the pack, then nodded at Miller to pick up the pace. Bellamy was out there, alive, bleeding. They needed to hurry.


	18. Chapter 18

_[A/N: I am extra-indebted to my Beta for this one! Marina Black1's medical expertise came in handy; thank you forever! If you aren't following her yet, please check out "Hurt" (for tons of AWESOME Bellarke feels) or "Perdition" (for dark dark darkness). Either will rock your world.]_

_[A/N 2: A reviewer asked if I have read the book. Usually I do read the book first - for everything. But not for The 100! And I likely won't now, since I already love the way the actors have inhabited these characters and claimed them so definitively.]_

_..._

**"When love beckons to you, follow him,  
Though his ways are hard and steep.  
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,  
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you."  
~Khalil Gibran**

…

Lincoln paced across the middle of the barn, treading the space between destruction and stability, between outdated and repurposed, between death and survival. He was anxious, worried for the Healer and her child and this man she loved. He had not intended to like Octavia's brother – in the beginning, Octavia had expressed such anger toward him, and Lincoln had believed her – but lately he had realized that the anger was nothing compared to the love between the siblings.

The first half of their trip had been tense and filled with distrust. Raven had made it worse, sinking into silent despair early. She was the one Lincoln found the least trustworthy. Her silence seemed ominous to the Grounder; the Fallen Ones always talked, about everything and nothing. It was constant background chatter, like the calls of magpies and crows, so a silent one made him nervous.

It had been Bellamy who first extended the olive branch. Lincoln felt a little frustrated having to admit that. In a low voice he hoped would not carry back to Raven as she trudged behind them, Bellamy had shared Raven's story, and Lincoln had been drawn in despite himself. Hers was an epic tragedy, the stuff of fantasy; to think, a mother not loving her daughter! There was no such thing as an unwanted child in his world - especially a girl. His people's numbers had been dwindling for decades. Too many disrupted pregnancies, too many horrifying complications in childbirth, too many diseases that struck in those first fragile months: these were the reasons his people did not celebrate until both mother and child had made it to their 100th day. For Raven's mother to have her, and then discard her… it would be a punishable crime in his world, if any woman could bear to do it. Even the mothers who had difficulties, or who suffered from the sadness after giving birth, were supported by a huge network that extended well beyond their own village. These women were warriors, and they deserved all the support a returning hero would receive.

And then there was Raven, who could not have children. And Clarke, who might be carrying a child belonging to Raven's lover. Lincoln shook his head as he paced. He had felt sorry for Bellamy at this revelation, because he saw how much it hurt to say out loud. They were already at the hospital by then, standing in a dark room underground, staring at a bank of dusty machines. Bellamy needed the ultrasound equipment for Clarke, because it would help her see the baby. They had grabbed three carts, rolling them back out to the elevator shaft. Raven had thrown one into the dark abyss immediately, declaring it useless. Then she had dismantled the other two, taking only the most important components (the ancient monitors had joined their brother in the dark pit behind her). Lincoln did not trust Raven, did not like her, but he pitied her. And after watching her with the machines, he also realized she was smart.

A sound in the distance drew Lincoln's attention back to the present. Clarke. She had someone with her, but unlike the Healer's bright gold hair, there was nothing distinguishing about the other figure from this distance, other than that it was male. Lincoln wondered if Raven's man might have followed her. He also wondered if his own feelings toward Bellamy had changed enough, that he would step in on behalf of Octavia's brother should the need arise.

Now that Clarke was coming, Lincoln turned back to keep a promise he had made.

"Bellamy," Lincoln whispered, prodding the sleeping man's shoulder as gently as he could. They had done their best to fashion a bed for him on the floor of this as-yet-not-fully-dismantled half of the building. Lincoln's layers of fur made a reasonably warm bed, but Bellamy looked very pale. Lincoln poked at him again and sat back when the dark eyes finally fluttered open.

"She is almost here," Lincoln said quietly.

"Okay. Thanks," Bellamy croaked back. Clarke couldn't see him like this, she would panic. He had to make it seem better. He tried to sit up a bit, but the pain in his side dashed that dream. He panted at the exertion. Well, she would have to settle for him being a wise-ass. It was the only thing he knew for sure was still working.

She rushed across the open half of the barn, the skeletal half that had been stripped for huts, and slid to a halt a few feet from him. Bellamy watched her carefully. He had not trusted Lincoln and Raven to tell him how bad it was. Clarke's eyes, however, didn't know how to lie to him. First was the horror. But that could mean anything; he already knew he looked like shit. Next came the probing visual assessment of his injuries. Bellamy held his breath a bit, waiting to see the results. He was surprised by the degree of uncertainty in her features.

"You are an ass," she tried to joke. It was cute, but also too late. He knew she was frightened by her own inability to form a prognosis.

"Miss me, Princess?" Bellamy answered with a weak smile.

"Hey, I made a promise, remember? Two and a half days; your time is up. I came to find you, and now I have to fix you up just so I can kill you properly," she responded with a hint of the real Clarke in her voice. She moved closer to him finally, and he ached for her touch, the comfort of her gentle strength, but she was not there just yet. She still had too many unanswered questions, and needed the physical distance to maintain some semblance of clinical detachment.

"You know, we only have one rule," she accused quietly.

"I'm not dead," he pointed out and then closed his eyes, willing the wave of pain to pass.

"Bellamy? Bellamy!" Clarke's voice cracked as she knelt by his side. "Open your eyes, please," she begged him softly. He swallowed and did as she requested, and finally she was there, finally he could reach out and hold her.

Clarke grabbed his outstretched hand and wrapped herself around it, pressing her lips against the knuckles, caressing every bloodied ridge and valley. She froze, even as his eyes drifted shut again from the exertion.

"Lincoln!" she called, and he appeared at her side instantly. Behind him, Clarke saw Miller standing in a bubble of confusion and anger. She had completely forgotten: Miller was unaware of the Grounder's presence in their world. She had to think fast. She shifted off Lincoln for the moment.

"Miller! He needs to be kept warm. Can you find firewood? … Only take boards that wouldn't be useful to the construction teams, though. And Miller?" she caught his eye just as he was about to turn, and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you for coming with me. We _will_ save him." That mollified him slightly; he shot her a quick grin and headed for a nearby scrap pile. Clarke searched out Lincoln, and saw the fight-or-flight struggle in his features as he stared after Miller. Bellamy had shared only a little of what transpired between the three of them in the drop-ship two months ago, but she was sure there was no love lost between these men.

"Lincoln. How much blood has he lost?" the urgency in her tone was enough to refocus the Grounder.

"I don't know. A lot. It's his leg," he explained. Clarke pulled aside the light leather cloak they were using as a blanket and gasped.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" she cried. The edge of fear in her voice cut at Lincoln, and woke Bellamy again. She took a deep steadying breath and tried again. "With this much blood loss, his body can't regulate its temperature like ours can. He needs to be kept warm." As she spoke Clarke's hands sought out the edges of the gaping wound in Bellamy's left thigh, and she grimaced as she probed carefully, trying not to hurt him.

"He killed the boar," Lincoln offered.

"What?" Clarke's mind was full of the muscles and tendons inside Bellamy's leg; she heard Lincoln with only a part of her brain.

"The wild boar that attacked us. He killed it. Their hides are thick and warm; I can get it for you but it will take some time."

Clarke finally understood what he was suggesting.

"Do it," she ordered. The wild boars she had seen were probably large enough to offer a reasonable blanket, although the hides always had that off-putting stench.

Lincoln jogged off and Clarke's attention turned back to her patient.

"I can think of _one_ way to stay warm," Bellamy whispered, and she smiled at him.

"Don't drift off like that again, okay? Stay with me, Bellamy. I need to know what happened." Her face shined at him, his own personal sun.

"Anything to help." Bellamy tried to shift a bit, and groaned as the pain speared up his side again. "There was a stampede. One of the boars attacked me, and I guess he caught me in the leg and the chest. I don't remember much after that." Clarke pulled Bellamy's shirt up gently, and found the large cut running up his side, the bruise spreading out beyond its edges. She let her hands do the investigating yet again, and watched his reactions carefully. Then she sat back with a sigh. A lock of hair fell over her face and she pushed it aside angrily, leaving behind a smear of Bellamy's blood.

"Tell me," Bellamy ordered her.

"It's not as bad as it could have been," Clarke pronounced. "You_ look_ like you were trampled, just from the cuts and bruises, but I don't think you were. There are no broken bones, other than two cracked ribs where the boar caught you. You're lucky you don't have a punctured lung." She would keep an eye on him, nevertheless; pneumothorax was still a concern. She exhaled once, deeply, and her eyes roved his body again as she continued her analysis. "The other major injury is your left thigh. The tusk ripped you open, Bellamy." There was a gash too large to tell him about. "You may be the luckiest man in the world, though. It missed your femoral artery, and slipped right between your major muscles, so you'll be up and walking again in no time." She smiled at him encouragingly.

Now that she had a grasp on the situation, she unpacked her bag quickly. Raven had been smarter than Clarke realized. She would be using every last inch of the dried seaweed. Who knew what diseases the boar's tusks carried? She dressed his cuts, forming the natural antibiotic into poultices and placing them over the largest wounds first, working her way down to the smaller scratches. She would have liked to turn Bellamy on his side, to help his left lung breathe easier, but she needed access to the thigh.

As she worked, Miller set up the makeshift fire ring the construction teams always used when they were here, and soon had a strong blaze going. Bellamy was still far too pale, and Clarke's ministrations were not helping him stabilize; his body had undergone some serious trauma during the attack, and now she was asking it to survive the trauma of medical intervention. Lincoln needed to hurry with that damn boar skin.

"Bellamy? Bellamy?" Clarke realized he was out again. She stopped for a moment and checked his vitals. His breathing was about what you'd expect from someone with bruised and battered ribs; his pulse was nowhere near what she wanted, but she had mostly stopped the bleeding. He would need stitches, too. A lot of stitches. But that could wait a bit, since she'd have to clean out the wounds first. Clarke crossed to his right side and slipped under the cloak that covered him, stretching her body against his and rubbing the skin of his arm lightly. She just wanted to rest now; she was tired and hungry.

"Miller?" she called sleepily. He appeared quickly, concern for her evident on his features. That was new; Miller generally ignored her unless she was speaking on behalf of Bellamy. "I'll need more water. Boiled first, if possible. The biggest wounds will need to be cleaned out before I can sew them closed. And we need to brew tea with some of the remaining seaweed." She fought back the exhaustion a while longer, but eventually her body won.

…

She and Bellamy woke at the same time. It was a relief, waking up next to her once again. He had hated the past two nights without her; Raven had accused him of sabotaging everyone's sleep with his nightmares. Now though, everything would be better, because Clarke had returned to him.

"Oh no!" Clarke sat up in a panic. "I didn't mean to fall asleep!"

"Relax, Clarke," Miller piped up from the edge of the fire. "It wasn't even a half hour." Clarke scrambled up and rubbed at her face in frustration. The stress was getting to her, she knew.

Bellamy saw it, too.

"Clarke, hey… calm down, okay? You're fine, everything's fine." He grabbed her ankle, the only part of her he could still reach.

"I need to sew you up, Bellamy. It's going to hurt."

"Okay," he nodded, his jaw tightening. He was already hurting; how much worse could it get?

"Miller, can you hold him down?" she looked at him in apology. Sometimes it felt like Miller got all the shitty jobs.

"Sure," he said as he crossed to them.

Miller and Clarke worked as fast as they could, and Clarke bit her own lip until she bled, trying to ignore the pain she was causing Bellamy. She knew there was no choice. At some point he passed out, and the pair could relax a bit.

When they finished, and were washing their hands of the blood that seemed to be everywhere, Clarke was surprised to feel Miller's shoulder pressed against hers in camaraderie. She looked up and found him eyeing her carefully.

"That was… scary," Bellamy's lieutenant began. "I couldn't have done that, especially for someone I…" he stopped. "Thank you for saving him," he finished, then walked away without another word.

Clarke was still staring after him when Lincoln arrived, dragging a giant black pelt.

"How many boars did you say it was?" Clarke asked doubtfully.

"This is the only one," Lincoln answered. He was panting under the weight of the animal's skin.

If Clarke had ever seen a water buffalo, she might have had a frame of reference. She hadn't. All she knew was that this animal had to be at least three times the size of the pigs they hunted in the forest. Her eyes widened.

"It's more open down here in the valley. More space… so the animals got bigger," Lincoln offered by way of explanation.

"Bellamy killed… _this_?" Clarke whispered.

Lincoln nodded and when he spoke again his voice was lower, full of admiration and respect.

"He killed it while he was still impaled on its tusks."

…

With Bellamy under the thick skin, and the fire blazing comfortably, Clarke watched the two men sitting with her. Lincoln stared at Miller in open hatred. Miller's face was a mosaic of fear, anger, confusion, and jealousy.

Everyone had worked so well together when the emergency called for it. But now that there was no imminent threat, memories of the torture room in the drop-ship came crashing around all three of them, haunting the uneasy truce.

Lincoln was sure Clarke did not know everything that had transpired. He saw the devotion she had to her patients, to Octavia and Bellamy. Healers were all the same, willing to do anything to save their patients. Now that he had spent time with her, Lincoln was able to admit his people's Healers would have done likewise if one of their own was lying on a table, dying from a mysterious poison. And Bellamy had told Miller not to kill him. He remembered that confusing time, when he thought Bellamy was Clarke's second in command, parroting the Healer's orders. Now he knew – they had a partnership, a way of governing that was more balanced and thoughtful. Lincoln's own people would find the idea foreign. Their leaders ruled with iron certainty, and there was no room for negotiation. Some were good at it, and their people prospered. Others made poor choices, and their people died or deserted them. It was the only way they had been able to make it this far.

Which meant Bellamy's order to spare Lincoln's life – it had come directly from Bellamy. And Miller… Lincoln knew people like Miller in his own village. They were the ones who would try to kill him if … no, _when_… he returned. They would call him a traitor, and they would fear him for growing close to the Fallen Ones. They hated the new, the outsider; Miller was just like them.

"Lincoln," Bellamy called softly, and Clarke watched as the bigger man slipped to Bellamy's side easily. He had that affect on others, that ability to make them do his bidding. When the ship first landed, she had chalked it up to the vacuum of leadership, but time had shown her there was more to it than that. He read people, for one thing. And he knew how to wield violence carefully as a tool, which was an advantage over even the toughest of the teenaged criminals that had landed with them. She looked over at Miller then, and caught his crestfallen face. Hm. Bellamy would have to be careful there.

…

Bellamy sent Miller ahead the next day with some of the recovered ultrasound equipment, ordering him to bring a few more bodies so they could transport everything more easily. Clarke insisted Bellamy wait another day before he attempted the trip home.

When Miller returned with Jasper and Monroe, Bellamy considered explaining Lincoln's presence - but decided it would sound like an excuse. Lincoln had saved his life; as far as he was concerned, that should be enough for them.

Clarke grabbed Miller's shoulder and pressed her face into his arm when Lincoln helped Bellamy up. She knew she should be stronger, knew it was necessary to move him and that Lincoln would be gentle, but her stomach churned and she worried she would be sick. Monroe and Jasper folded the boar's pelt around several of the best cuts of meat. This animal would feed everyone well for days. The remaining ultrasound equipment was parsed out, and then Clarke pulled Miller aside. She channeled Bellamy as she spoke to him, reminding him that they were depending on him to get them home safely. She smiled reassuringly as she thanked him yet again, telling him she knew how much Bellamy relied on him. Then she turned away as quickly as was polite, and got sick all over the cold snowy ground.

"I'm fine," she managed, feeling rather than seeing everyone jump forward in concern. She waved them away and wiped her mouth quickly. _No time. Never any time! _Clarke turned back as if nothing had happened, and slid under Bellamy's left arm. He was now strung between her and Lincoln, a weak, frustrated scarecrow of himself.

Miller shrugged again and grabbed his portion of the equipment, then set off with the ragtag group in tow.

"I thought you didn't get morning sickness," Bellamy managed quietly as the others pulled ahead.

"I thought so too," Clarke whispered back thoughtfully.


	19. Chapter 19

_[A/N: I owe more than just thanks to Marina Black1 for making this chapter happen. Whether it was holding my feet to the fire on technical stuff, refusing to let me pull scenes, or just general hand-holding, she was a trooper all the way. Cheers!]_

_[A/N2: Once again I find myself saying please be warned. There is some mature content here, including reference to a past possible rape. I'm bumping the whole story to "M" rating just in case.]_

_..._

**"Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.  
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?  
Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts  
it drinks even of dead waters."  
~ Khalil Gibran **

...

Of the 102 humans who had left the Ark a few months ago, 87 were still alive. Two-thirds of the deaths had occurred in those first terrible, confused weeks; after they had established some rules for safety, the stability had been marred only three other times. The first was when Sarai and Lily, both friends of Jasper, had tried some mushrooms that turned out to be toxic. Harper had stumbled upon their bodies the next day and had a pretty severe meltdown. Then there was Emmett, who tripped during a hunt and was taken apart by one of those terrifying cat-creatures; his was an empty grave near Charlotte's. Most recently, Clarke had been away on a scouting expedition when the Carter twins ate some kind of tree-nut and had a severe allergic reaction. The anaphylaxis was too sudden; everyone had tried to help the younger boys but there was nothing to be done. The younger ones always hurt Bellamy the most, and he had cried when the boys' bodies were interred.

Now Clarke sat on the edge of Bellamy's examining bed in the med bay, balancing her sketchbook on a knee while trying to make sure her list included all of the girls still alive and under her care.

"So?" Bellamy finally asked, trying not to sound frustrated.

"So, there are 40 of us. Eliminate Raven, Octavia, me… there are 37 girls that could be pregnant." She sighed. "It's been well over a week. Monty promised me that ultrasound yesterday, Bellamy. What's taking him so long?!"

"Uh, ok, there are just… NO walls separating us, you know that right?" Monty called over from his desk in the corner. Clarke smiled charmingly at him.

"Well then? Anything for me?" she called back.

"Actually, yes! Let's give this a try," he said, dragging a machine their direction. It looked like most of their other electronics looked: cobbled together by a three-year-old. But Clarke knew better than to judge Monty's genius on looks alone.

He started to explain how he had modified the machines to make them work for Clarke's purposes, but with words like "piezoelectric effect" and "transducer probe", he lost his audience quickly. Raven wandered in just as Monty was starting to falter, and laughed at the frustrated look on her friend's face.

"Don't waste your breath on them, man," Raven teased him, "They just want to know that it works! But you can tell me all about it at lunch; and I promise to pay extra-special attention." Monty blushed as she spoke, and Clarke's heart went out to the gentle boy. Raven had _no _idea.

"Monty, _will_ it work?" Bellamy finally asked in frustration. It was his default setting these days; bed-rest did not suit him.

"Yeah, umm, I think so," Monty answered. "These are just general ultrasound machines so they should work on any part of the body that isn't bone. It would help if we could test it, of course."

"I happen to know someone with a leg injury that could serve our purposes," Clarke jumped in. She had seen Raven open her mouth to speak; now that the moment was here, she realized she was nervous about using the equipment on herself, especially since Monty still didn't know. "Let's give it a try. What do we need to do?"

Monty talked her through the process as simply as possible, showing her how the probe needed to be held to get the proper resonance. Raven smeared a thick layer of grease over the end of the probe, and Clarke pulled the bandages off Bellamy's healing thigh. Monty had commandeered one of the drop-ship's monitors, and as the probe passed across Bellamy's skin, Clarke stared in fascination at the images crossing the screen, the muscles and veins and arteries working so beautifully together. She was nearly overwhelmed by the sound of Bellamy's amplified heartbeat. The music of it filled the med bay, and she was surprised to discover she was a little jealous of Raven and Monty for listening in. This heartbeat belonged to her; it was the sound that lulled her to sleep every night and woke her in the mornings. They had no right to it. Clarke shook her head and pulled the probe away from his leg, trying to regain her balance.

"Yep, it works," she announced. "I guess we should get started this afternoon, okay?" Monty just shrugged. Now that his job was done, he planned on being as far away from the drop-ship as possible for the rest of the day. The thought of all those women passing through this space, waiting to be examined by Clarke… his spine tingled in fear.

Raven and Octavia helped Clarke pass on the news, and after lunch a line began to form. Clarke knew Bellamy did not want to be part of this process, either; he had made sure to complain about it every day for the past four days. But with his ribs still recovering, and his stitches not doing as well as she would have liked, he wasn't going anywhere. And honestly: there was a mean little part of her that wanted him to feel the repercussions of his previous sexual indiscretions, even though she also hoped like Hell nothing would come of them.

"Here: at least be useful. You can take notes," Clarke ordered him, handing over her sketchbook with their list of names scrawled neatly down one page. Bellamy shook his head in impotent frustration, but slid her pencil behind his ear. She smiled at that; he looked so studious with that simple addition, she leaned over and gave him a light, lingering kiss. He returned it eagerly, but she pulled away before he was quite ready. Bellamy frowned and bit his lip as she turned back to the task at hand.

Wrangling the line of anxious young women fell to Mei and Raven, who also asked them basic questions to help determine which girls were most at risk. Twelve of them had been locked up for less than a year, and their B.C. Shots were still up-to-date. Clarke recognized several of them from Bellamy's tent, and studiously avoided his eyes as she thanked them and sent them on their way. She had been hoping for more like this, but would take what she could get. There were eight girls who swore up-and-down that they had never had sex. Clarke hugged each one of them in relief, especially when she learned how young most of them were. That left seventeen girls who had no birth control in their system, and who admitted to being recently sexually active; three of these assured Clarke they had actually gotten their period quite recently.

The news that any of them were able to have regular menstrual cycles shocked Clarke. It meant their environmental stressors were diminishing, a sign of the increasing health of the community overall.

Clarke had no idea what the statistics were on how many of the remaining fourteen should be pregnant, but as girl after girl climbed down from the exam table with no results from the ultrasound device, Clarke began to worry. It seemed unlikely that she and Octavia were the only two pregnancies in the whole group. Maybe the ultrasound wasn't working, after all… She asked all the girls to come back in a few weeks for a follow-up, just in case. As the last girl walked out, Clarke leaned against Bellamy's bed, one hand draped over his knee, and tried to alleviate the tension in her shoulders with the other hand. His fingers slid to the base of her neck, deftly working the stiff muscles. She let her eyes drift closed. It was over. And despite the torture of watching Bellamy's former lovers sashay through her med bay one by one, it had been worth it to know none of them carried his children. Clarke shuddered to realize that was what he felt like, every time he thought of her with Finn.

"Okay Mei, you're up!" Raven smiled. Clarke's eyes popped open in surprise. One more?

Mei turned a panicked face toward Clarke and her eyes filled with tears.

"You won't need it," she whispered shakily. Clarke's blood thickened in dread at the miserable tone in Mei's soft voice, and she planted her nails deep into Bellamy's knee.

"Really, Mei?" Clarke tried not to sound disappointed - for one thing, she had no right to judge _anyone_. "I didn't know you were with someone."

"I'm not. But even so…" The girl seemed to melt into herself under Clarke's stare. Something was wrong. This wasn't like Mei.

"I'm going to perform the ultrasound anyway, Mei. We can find out when you're due, and help you plan, okay?" Mei nodded miserably, and Clarke felt a stone settle into her stomach as she watched her assistant carefully. Mei already knew, or at the very least suspected, just how far along she was.

When the ultrasound's probe slid over Mei's already-gently-rounding abdomen, Clarke cringed. There was no question. This fetus was too developed. At just over 3 inches long by Clarke's estimation, the baby pre-dated their arrival on Earth.

"Mei…" Clarke sighed. She set down the equipment and turned to wrap an arm around her scared patient. "How?"

"He said it wouldn't matter," Mei began as she sat up, trying to stay calm even though her tears were beginning to soak her shirt.

"I don't understand," Bellamy interrupted. His face was pinched into a confused frown. Clarke grabbed Mei to her shoulder and shot Bellamy a_ Look_.

"Mei was already pregnant when we arrived," she explained as gently as she could. The girl sobbed openly now. Raven dropped to her knees beside them, and tears pricked her eyes as she rubbed Mei's leg reassuringly.

"He said it didn't matter what he did to me," Mei repeated, and her shame and sorrow threatened to pull the other girls into the dark abyss with her, "Because I'd float before I ever started to show."

Clarke and Raven tensed at Mei's words, wondering if Bellamy had caught the violent implication. He had.

"Mei? Who did this to you?" Bellamy asked in a low voice that promised death. Clarke already knew the answer: of all the people in this room, she was the only other one who had been subjected to the taunts and harassment the way Mei would have been. Bellamy and Raven didn't know, because they had never been a girl imprisoned on the Ark.

"It was one of the guards, wasn't it?" Clarke asked in a world-weary way that boiled Bellamy's blood.

The girl finally pulled back and nodded, trying to regain her composure. Clarke left her with Raven so she could get Mei a cup of water. Then she leaned against Bellamy's exam bed again, certain he was about to do something stupid.

"My 18th birthday was two weeks ago," Mei sighed. "I'm supposed to be dead right now. So is the baby."

_Fuck._ She needed so much more help than Clarke knew how to give.

"Do you want to keep it?" Raven asked her in a kind but direct voice. Mei shuddered.

"If we were on the Ark, I'd say: Hell no," she admitted. "But here… maybe. I think maybe it's okay to hope, down here. What do you think?" she turned her face to Raven.

Raven thought a half dozen things in the space of a millisecond. She thought Mei was a fool. She thought Mei was brave. And too scared and confused to make a rational decision. And alone in a dangerous and unknown place. She thought Mei could use a friend. And that asking Raven's advice was like asking a zero-G mechanic what the ocean tasted like.

"I think I have more hope here than I ever did on the Ark," she said aloud. "And I think you're done sleeping in that hut with Harper and her posse. We're going to set you up in the drop-ship, okay?" She glared at Bellamy as she said it, daring him to challenge her on this. He just nodded and turned to Clarke, still pre-occupied by her personal knowledge of Mei's experiences. What had the Ark guards done to her, when she was locked in that hell-hole?

After Raven had led Mei away, Clarke turned grief-stricken eyes on Bellamy and he pulled her into his arms. Her voice caught in her throat as she explained how some of the guards – not all, but some – took advantage of their position. Abby Griffin had fought to put a stop to it, when she discovered how many girls were being floated while with child. All she had really done, though, was drive the practice deeper underground. None of the girls were willing to name names, and the guards got smarter, taking only those who would be floated before there was any evidence. They avoided Clarke because of Abby, and because she wasn't compliant enough; she had brushed off their initial onslaught of taunts and lewd suggestions, and they cut their losses early. Clearly, Mei had not been so lucky.

"Octavia?" Bellamy finally asked, his face buried in Clarke's hair.

"Too young," Clarke assured him. She had no doubt Octavia was subjected to the verbal harassment, but that was all. The launch of the drop-ship had saved Octavia from the rest of that particular Hell.

…

Lincoln paced in the third-floor of the drop-ship, his cabin-fever reaching new heights after a solid week of confinement. He had thought perhaps things would change when they returned from the valley, but Octavia and Bellamy had insisted that he play the role of the captive for a while longer. They both swore it was only for his safety. That did not make the room more bearable, of course.

The only break was in the evenings, when most of the teens gathered around the large bonfire outside to discuss the day's events and share stories. The drop-ship emptied then, and he was free to descend to the medical bay where he and the equally stir-crazy Bellamy were learning how to be friends. It was a cautious process, despite everything that had happened. Octavia and Clarke joined them sometimes, but if the weather was nice enough they went out with Raven. Lincoln still found Raven too volatile for his taste. He worried about Octavia's friendship with that one.

A knock at the door signaled the all-clear, and Lincoln sighed in relief before slipping down the ladder to the first floor.

Clarke was there, looking pre-occupied. Octavia rushed in with Raven at her heels; it was nice to see the morning sickness had finally abated. She looked so beautiful and young and happy, Lincoln's heart swelled at the sight of her. He wanted her to look just like this, always.

"Lincoln, we have something for you," Clarke announced with a half smile. She was worried about something, but trying to hide it. From whom? Not Bellamy – he looked as upset as she. Octavia? Probably. People wanted to protect Octavia. Her irrepressible joy was worth protecting.

Clarke grabbed Octavia's hand and led her to the empty exam table next to Bellamy.

"Are you ready for this?" Clarke asked. After her own experiences with Mei this afternoon, she knew Octavia couldn't possibly be ready – but it was important to ask.

Octavia nodded excitedly, and Clarke smeared some fat over the probe's surface to help it glide over the abdomen better. As the small group watched the monitor, a loud fast rhythm suffused the room.

"That's the baby's heartbeat," Clarke smiled at Lincoln. She closed her eyes to focus. "It's fast. Faster than I expected." She looked at Octavia and Lincoln in surprise. A question nearly escaped her lips, but then she glanced over at Bellamy, listening to the heartbeat with as much intensity as his sister, and Clarke bit her tongue. She would know the fetal age soon enough. She focused instead on getting a good image of the fetus. It was so much harder with this little one; Mei's had been easy to find, but Clarke was no expert, and this was a much smaller target. Suddenly she saw something; a little shape, just two circles at first, but she cried out in triumph and as the image became clearer she realized she was crying. Clarke swiped at her eyes, intent on completing her duty. She established that the fetus was a bit older than 10 weeks... which meant conception had been right around the time of Lincoln's escape from the drop-ship.

"Octavia, Lincoln, say hello to your baby," she whispered finally. The room stilled, and all the adults who would be responsible for this child shared a moment of deep awe for the developing life within Octavia.

…

Everyone was gone. Raven had slipped away to the bonfire - and probably some moonshine - after making sure Mei was settled. Octavia and Lincoln were upstairs, no doubt doing things Bellamy shouldn't really think about. Clarke and Bellamy were the only ones left with the ultrasound machine. It seemed to grow larger with every silent minute that passed as Clarke kept busy with mindless activities, until it was looming over them both.

"Stop, Clarke."

She looked up at Bellamy, and feigned ignorance.

"I need to get this place organized. With so many people in and out today, I can't even find half my supplies."

"You'll find them tomorrow." He tried to swing himself down from the table, and Clarke lunged forward to help. He was a terrible patient.

"I can't keep sewing you back shut every time you tear a stitch, Bellamy. It doesn't work like that," she warned him in exasperation as her arms wrapped around his hips. Being confined to bed, and not in the way he would have preferred, was driving Bellamy to distraction; the feel of her fingers at his waist, the smell of her, they were conspiring against him.

"Bellamy…" she managed to fill his name with both her desire for him - and her frustration at him. "You need to listen to your doctor's orders," she chastised him gently. But she didn't let go. He swallowed and forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.

"I promise to be a good patient for the rest of the night if you promise to do this." He held up the ultrasound's probe. Clarke sighed.

"What if it's not what we want to hear?" she asked him carefully.

"I've told you, Clarke. There's no such thing."

"If it was a false alarm?" She had been considering the possibility for a while now; she lived in such close proximity to Octavia, and her symptoms always seemed to start only after her friend's. The medical texts Monty and Raven had managed to download from the Ark had explained false pregnancy and the psychological triggers that could trick a woman's body into exhibiting all the right symptoms.

Her question froze Bellamy.

"Is that possible?" he asked doubtfully.

"It is." Bellamy set the ultrasound equipment down and reached behind his waist for Clarke's hands, disentangling her carefully. The movement hurt his side, but he ignored it.

"If it is a false alarm, then that's okay, too, Clarke." He cupped her face in his hands, searching her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere." She nodded and straightened.

"Okay. Thank you. Let's just get this over with." Clarke guided Bellamy through the process – although having watched Clarke herself do it over a dozen times in the course of the afternoon, Bellamy was already fairly comfortable with the equipment.

He placed the probe a few inches below her navel, and they both searched the screen for any sign of a little human growing inside. Nothing.

"Bellamy? You might want to try lower. The baby couldn't possibly be that big," she laughed, finally realizing what he had done. Bellamy frowned at her.

"Alright Princess, calm down," he asserted. Slowly, he pulled the tool lower, searching for any changes.

"Stop!" Clarke suddenly called out. Her face glowed as she listened carefully; Bellamy watched the metamorphosis unfold, watched Clarke transform into a mother in the space of a few loud, life-altering seconds. The amplified sound of a tiny, brave heartbeat poured into every corner of the room. Bellamy was hypnotized by the persistence of that rhythm, the sheer determined fight-for-life of something so small and fragile. Clarke's voice finally broke through.

"Look at the monitor…" There on the screen was a shape much smaller than anything they had yet seen today. Clarke stared, awestruck by this tiny blip and its rapidly beating heart. Finally she shook herself back to the task at hand. She calculated the measurements just as the texts described, and looked at the paper carefully.

"That's… eight – no sorry, a little more than eight weeks..." Clarke sat up and delighted tears streamed down her face. "Bellamy… I've been staring at that calendar Raven and I made for days and days. One thing I know - with absolute certainty - is that you and I were on our _second_ trip to the valley eight and a half weeks ago." She blushed suddenly, thinking of that trip, wondering when exactly it had happened. Maybe when he had taken her, hastily and silently, on the bed of the old MRI machine in the darkened hospital basement while the rest of their team searched the nearby rooms for supplies; or maybe when Bellamy had sent everyone ahead so he and Clarke could revisit their sycamore tree, and complete what they had started high in its branches. That had been incredibly terrifying… and exhilarating. Or maybe after, when he had stripped her bare in the tall grass by the creek, and taken advantage of the vegetation's natural screening to torment her chilled skin with his warm yearning mouth for so long that she had worried the sun might set before he finished with her.

Bellamy, flush now with the certainty that he had fathered the child in her womb, watched her face as she recalled that trip - and reached out for her in raw need. Clarke gasped as he pulled her hips to the edge of the exam bed and slid between her thighs.

"Clarke," he moaned. He knew she could feel his arousal, pressed as she was against him. She sat up and tilted her head, eyeing him critically. It had been almost two weeks since the attack; she was sure his ribs needed more time before they would be able to handle this. But she needed him too - so badly.

"You could make yourself worse," she warned him.

"I know a good doctor," he growled back. He was trying to undress her but his left arm was basically useless. Clarke smiled at his tenacity, and put a hand on his chest to stop him briefly. She leaned even closer, until her lips grazed his ear. It felt so good, touching him like this; she had missed it.

"Your doctor says, let me take care of that," she whispered against his cheek and he shuddered as her fingers slid ever-so-slowly down his chest, stopping at the hem of his shirt to enjoy the tight warmth of his hips before slowly lifting his shirt from his body. Clarke threw the garment aside, then ripped her own top off easily. She secretly adored these moments, the calm before the storm when she could enjoy the beauty of this terrifyingly passionate man who loved her so completely.

Bellamy wrapped his good arm around her waist and she arched back slightly, enjoying the fierce burn of his lips as he worked his way toward one hard ready nipple; she moaned with pleasure at the feeling of his tongue pulling her into his mouth. She was lit on fire instantly; her hips ached for him, and she lost patience, stripping them both bare and pulling him hungrily toward her, eager to feel that sensation of fullness he knew just how to offer her.

Bellamy slid inside her, enthralled by her heat; she enveloped him completely and he shivered at the feeling of her, responding with delight to his presence. Clarke stretched back onto the exam table, and his ravenous eyes consumed her soft body, laid out before him. Grabbing her hips with both hands now, and gritting his teeth against the soreness in his side, he pushed ever more deeply into her, his need for her happiness filling every cell. His thoughts slowed; he was drowning in the vision of her delicate lips as they parted and soft groans of pleasure escaped, in her strong thighs as they tightened around him, hugging him closer, in the perfect roundness of her breasts, in her stomach as it rose and fell to the quick shallow panting of her desire. He placed his hands over the flat expanse of pale skin that stretched between her hips and moved carefully inside her, exploring slowly, patiently, forgetting the outside world for the moment as he brought the woman he loved closer and closer to very edge of sanity. He had to be careful; he could tell his ribs wouldn't be able to handle more than this. Tonight would be about Clarke, about giving her everything he had to offer.

As Clarke sank deeper into the dark warmth of her own desire, Bellamy followed her movements minutely, focusing all his energy on her bliss. When she finally exploded around him though, shattering into a million shards of ecstasy, he very nearly lost control. The sharp pain in his side as he bent to kiss her stomach was the only thing that stopped him. He smiled roughly at Clarke as she recovered below him, and wondered how he would ever truly earn the right to love this woman and the child she carried for him.

_His_ child.


	20. Chapter 20

**___[A/N: Things happen in here that I don't like. This chapter is the heart of our latest triptych, the "evil" of Khalil Gibran's quote. WARNING: There are continued references to a past possible rape, and there's death.]_**

_[A/N2: My beta, the ever-fantastic and shockingly talented Marina Black1, did not edit this chapter. If she had, it would rock. And a shout-out for her TWO awesome pieces for The 100: _Perdition_ and _Hurt_.]_

_..._

**"Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.  
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?  
****Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters." **

**~ Khalil Gibran**

...

Finn was at the entrance to the drop-ship with the first rays of the cold January sun. He hesitated. Everyone had been talking about the ultrasound tests yesterday; it had overwhelmed the bonfire conversation in the evening. A couple of the younger boys had tried to make an inappropriate joke about Clarke's obsession with the women in camp, and had inadvertently sparked a heated and very serious conversation about how horrible it would be to raise a child in this place. The women around the fire were adamant; only a fool would want to bring a baby into this terrifying and violent world. As far as they were concerned, Clarke was a cult hero for her work.

Today, though, Finn had to forget all that. Today he would learn the truth. He shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, trying to decide if he was ready. If it _was_ his, if Clarke really was carrying his child, then she would come back to him. He was certain. It was the right thing to do, giving the child a loving family. And then Bellamy the Bastard would have to back off, go back to his harem and his gang of violent delinquents. Those thugs of his were growing restless, while he was hanging out in the medical bay playing "Doctor" with Clarke. Miller had been putting out fires where he could - but everyone could see it was only a matter of time before someone did something really stupid, and lives were lost.

Raven walked up with breakfast in her hand, and groaned when she realized Finn was standing there, trying to decide what to do.

"Oh, come _on!_" she sighed with a roll of the eyes. She should have known he'd be here. "You're scared to go in, aren't you?" At the accusation, Finn smiled weakly.

"Yeah, a little. I mean… Raven, what if I'm wrong?"

"Okay," Raven laughed with irritation, "I am the last fucking person you need to be talking to about this right now." She turned to go inside.

"Nobody else knows, though. So there's nobody else to talk to."

"Not my problem, Finn," she pointed out over her shoulder. "None of your problems are my problems anymore. That's how it works." She walked inside, conversation over.

"So we can't even be friends?" he asked, following after her. Raven paused at the base of the ladder. One quick glance at the serene smile on Clarke's face as she moved around the sleeping Bellamy had been enough for Raven. She grinned, glad she would not be present for this next conversation.

"No, we can't be friends, Finn. Not yet." Then she climbed up to the second floor, and Mei. Finn turned toward the medical bay, toward Clarke. She glowed this morning. She looked so different, so alive. Finn wanted her. She was a thing of beauty, and Finn couldn't walk away from beauty. It wasn't in his nature.

"Clarke." Finn's voice startled her. She jumped and turned toward him, simultaneously shifting to the left so that Bellamy's sleeping form separated her from her guest.

"I don't want to cause problems, Clarke. That's not why I'm here. I just thought you might know…?" Finn's voice dropped as he spoke, sliding automatically into the low, hypnotic half-whisper that was naturally pitched to melt hearts. It worked; Clarke actually felt sorry for him in this moment, despite the torment he had wrought on her and on all those she loved.

Her face told him the answer, but he was still glad when she spoke. It lent finality to the ordeal.

"Not even 9 weeks, Finn."

His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes to process the news.

"And now, I have work to do. I'm sure you do, too," she hinted. Bellamy stirred, and she stepped to his side, shooting Finn a sympathetic look. "You'll want to be gone before he wakes up."

With one last longing glance, Finn complied. He slipped outside and then sat on the edge of the metal gangway, his feet resting in the snow that gathered in the gentle depression caused by the drop-ship's landing.

Finn tried to understand how he had gotten to this place. He had lost Clarke to Bellamy Blake, lost Raven in his obsession with Clarke's pregnancy, and in the end he had lost his claim to the baby, too. Finn Collins was the kind of man who sought out action; he was not practiced at introspection. So he searched for some explanation, some cause of this current tortured existence, and ultimately he was able to resolve the problem: If he had been able to stay with Clarke, if she hadn't pulled away from him out of a sense of nobility… then she never would have fallen for Bellamy Blake, never would have gotten herself into this position. Really, he told himself, when you examined everything logically, it became terrifyingly clear. Raven Reyes and her 100-year-old pod had crashed right into Finn Collins' new life on Earth, and had been pulling him apart ever since.

…

"Mei?" Raven whispered as she gently shook the smaller girl's shoulder, careful not to wake the other sleeping figures scattered around. "I brought you breakfast." Mei sat up sleepily, and then grinned.

"This is my first breakfast-in-bed since I was a kid," she whispered, taking the collection of dried berries and smoked venison from Raven. As she bit in to the meat, her eyes rolled skyward happily. "This tastes _so_ much better, though," she admitted. Raven sat back on her haunches and watched Mei regaining some of her old vitality.

In retrospect, Raven could almost track the course of Mei's pregnancy. She was no doctor, but Raven had one of those brains: things just stuck. Others studied for hours or even days to understand how an engine worked... Raven just saw it and _got it_. And spending so much time around Octavia and Clarke had taught Raven a thing or two. Like how easy it was to miss the first, subtle clues – or blame them on other causes. The exhaustion, for example. Life down here was pretty damn exhausting. And the whole morning sickness thing seemed pretty hit-or-miss anyway: Octavia had suffered through weeks of torment, while Clarke got mildly sick a few times and that was it. Mei, Raven remembered, had first found her way to the medical bay when Clarke diagnosed her with a bad case of food poisoning a couple months ago. Raven grinned at how things had come full-circle for them all. She sobered quickly though, at the memory of how Mei had shrunk in on herself in just the past couple weeks. Not physically, of course, but her face had developed a permanently worried frown and she tended to pull away from some of the male patients. Raven stared at Mei, consumed by that last thought.

"What?" Mei finally asked, when the staring had become uncomfortable.

"Mm? No. It's nothing. Maybe it's nothing. I just… you don't like Sterling, do you?" Raven probed gently, thinking of the slight blonde boy with the easy smile. Mei shivered a little at the name.

"I'm sure he's fine. We don't spend a lot of time together, so I don't know him very well."

"But you know Drew, right? He's one of Bellamy's men." Mei grimaced. Drew had helped bring in Lincoln; Raven remembered his hair was cut in a style similar to Finn's, although his light, straight locks gave him a more angular countenance.

"Yeah; he's not my favorite person." Mei drew her fingers through her long hair nervously.

"And Diggs? What did you think of him?" Raven pressed. Diggs had been impaled while trying to rescue Octavia.

"Again, I barely knew him, Raven. That was months ago. He seemed… rough, I guess," Mei whispered. She was starting to wonder if this was really just a friendly conversation.

"But Miller, Jasper, Finn... they're okay?" Raven was a dog with a meaty bone. Mei decided the interrogation had gone far enough. She sighed and held up one hand as a warning.

"Yes, those guys are alright. And Monty's really great, too." She wasn't sure why she added that last line, but was intrigued to see Raven blink and lean back at the name.

…

_What a fucking mess that guy is_, Miller thought as he trudged past the seated Finn, staring morosely into space outside the drop-ship. Miller pushed into the medical bay just as Clarke finished checking Bellamy's wounds. He hung back, unsure where the line between professional and personal lay with these two now. Unsure, these days, of how much right he had even to be here.

"Miller, it's okay," Clarke called to him. "He's done." She patted Bellamy's knee warmly and turned to clean up. It was a great way to eavesdrop; everyone always assumed she was busy with her own thoughts, if she _looked_ busy.

"How bad is it?" Bellamy asked without bothering to greet his subordinate.

"Our patrols haven't spotted _any_ Grounder activity in the past week," Miller said. "Some of the violent types are getting antsy. There's more and more fighting in camp." He tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Lincoln sent the Grounders some kind of message, I'm not sure what," Bellamy said thoughtfully. "But he said it would keep us safe for a while." Miller's fists tightened and his eyes dropped to the ground.

"Hey, he saved my life," Bellamy reminded Miller in a threatening voice. "I'm willing to give the guy a second chance after something like that."

"I don't trust him."

"I know."

"But you don't care."

"Not really."

"His people are going to attack us and kill us all, Bellamy! It's just a question of when." A frustrated laugh escaped Miller. "Actually, at this point they should just sit back and wait; all our best fighters are going to start killing each other if it keeps going like this." Why was Bellamy being so damn stubborn?

Bellamy shook his head, his jaw tightening in anger.

"Dammit, Miller, what can I do?! I'm stuck inside this _fucking_ ship for – sorry, Clarke, but really - I can't stand it much longer!" He glared murderously at his torn up leg.

"Go." Clarke's quiet voice cut through both men's anger.

"What?"

"At this point, you're just a giant pain in the ass if you stay here," Clarke admitted. "You get into everything, you refuse to sit still, you've torn stitches out more times than anyone on bed-rest could possibly do. So go. Be with them. You need it, they need it – I need it." Clarke smiled brightly at the boyish grin Bellamy was trying desperately to hide. "_But_ you have a curfew. And a bodyguard. Miller's the only one I trust to keep you safe." She turned to face the boy in the knit hat. "One hour. And a full report of his activities, too. Okay?"

Miller seemed genuinely relieved.

"Okay," he promised sincerely. Finally. He could show Bellamy what they'd done, how the guard teams were working, and Bellamy would make the broken parts work again. The tightness he'd carried in his chest for so long began to loosen.

…

"Clarke!" Raven slid down the ladder, calling impatiently for her friend. She was surprised to see both exam tables empty, but hardly let it slow her. Instead she hopped up on the nearest one, wrapping her legs expertly under her, and waited for Clarke's full attention.

"He was blonde," Raven announced.

"What? ...Who?" Clarke's brow knit together.

"The father." Raven sighed impatiently. Why were people always determined to think so slowly? "I noticed Mei avoids blonde men in camp. I think that's why." She waited for Clarke's response.

"Raven," Clarke began, pulling herself up onto the table next to her friend, "Be careful. You want to help Mei, which is great, and I think Mei's lucky to have you as her friend. But she's also going through a lot right now, more than I can possibly understand. I wouldn't want to make things worse, you know?"

"Shit Clarke, I'm not talking about making things worse, I'm talking about getting Jaha on the radio and telling him what we know! They can investigate on their end."

"And then what? You heard Mei. Down here, she has hope. She doesn't want a connection back to the Ark, at least not the kind you seem to be suggesting."

"I'm 'suggesting' they float the bastard, Clarke! -Why won't you help us?" Raven shook her head in disappointment and slid off the table, hurrying out of the ship. She needed to find something to do, to keep busy.

…

That night, Bellamy and Miller ate in the medical bay with Clarke, Raven, and Mei. It was an awkward meal; nobody was comfortable mentioning anything pregnancy-related with Miller there, and he and Bellamy were determined not to worry their dinner companions with the sorry state of affairs out on the Wall. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief when Mei slipped upstairs and Miller headed home. Raven stayed a while longer, lobbying once again for Clarke to call Jaha on Mei's behalf, before finally giving up… for now.

"Good night, you two. Please wait to get nasty until I'm out of earshot, okay?" she teased them as she left. Clarke blushed.

"Why wait? She's not our boss," Bellamy asked Clarke, pulling her close and running his fingers down her arm lightly. Her flushed neck and cheeks always fanned the hot coals of his desire for her. He bent his head slowly to her throat, pressing his lips against the flutter of her pulse as his hand found hers and he guided it to his waist. She leaned into him, soft and warm and ready, and he cursed his damned injuries yet again as the by-now familiar pain speared through the left side of his body. There was no way he could satisfy her tonight; he had pushed himself too hard while visiting the camp's defenses earlier in the day. Clarke felt the shift in Bellamy's stance and smiled to herself. She pulled back slightly, staring at him with a hint of accusation.

"So tomorrow, you'll actually listen to your doctor's orders?" she asked bluntly. He pursed his lips, but nodded.

"Good. Because you need to be lying down," she pointed out, dragging him toward the exam table.

She was about to help him up when a scream of pain and terror cracked through the medical bay from somewhere in camp. Clarke froze, unsure of what to do for Bellamy. He didn't hesitate.

"Go!" he ordered. "I'm right behind you."

Clarke nodded and ran for the door, pushing through the draped parachute material as quickly as she could. Even as she did so there was another scream, this one a mixture of grief and fear. Clarke followed the sound blindly, knocking people out of her way as she searched for the source of that much agony.

She slid to a halt by a small group of teens, the first few to have arrived at the scene. There was no movement from the audience.

Raven sat on the ground, sobbing, next to the inert body of Finn Collins. Behind her, Monty Green looked in horror at the heavy stone in his hand, at one sharp corner now stained crimson with blood.


	21. Chapter 21

**_[A/N: This story involves serious/mature themes including sex and violence.]_**

_[A/N2: Join me in giving a round of applause to my Beta _Marina Black1_, for sticking with me on this crazy journey. She's the bee's knees!]_

_[A/N3: Speaking of crazy journeys, is anyone still out there?... I didn't scare you off? I hope not! I absolutely adore all the comments and responses I've received to this fic. THANK YOU! If you came here for the Bellarke and you're wondering what's going on: to me, this is still always about Bellarke, but I feel their friends are a part of their story, too. _If you ache for straight Bellarke, you might want to skip ahead to Chapter 23!_]_

**...**

**"Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.  
****For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?  
****Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters."  
****~ Khalil Gibran**

**...**

Clarke stepped forward just as Monty dropped the bloodied rock and sank down beside Raven. The healer noted the anguish on his face and in his voice as he called to the dark-haired girl - but for Clarke, the priority now was Finn. She searched for vital signs, anything to suggest Monty had _not_ done what the crowd already believed to be true. Finally she looked up, seeking Bellamy in the crowd, her eyes red and hot with tears. His face was a question mark. She shook her head, unwilling to say the words. Bellamy quietly ordered Miller and Drew to take Monty back to the drop-ship, and secure him in the med bay for now.

"No!" Monty shouted as they pulled him up roughly. "I need to be with Raven! Oh, god, Raven! Are you hurt?! Ray, talk to me!" Monty's desperate cries faded as he was dragged into the ship, and Raven finally glanced around, looking like a child waking from a nightmare.

"Monty?" her voice was ragged with grief and confusion. "Monty?!" She scrambled to her feet, Finn's body forgotten, and turned on Bellamy.

"Where did you take him?! Where's Monty?" She yelled hoarsely; she rushed toward him, intent on getting her answer, but Clarke intervened.

"Raven, stop! He's in the ship." That only made it worse. Raven fixed Bellamy with a fiery stare and Clarke gripped her friend's shoulder to restrain her.

"I swear to you, Bellamy Blake, if your goons have him up in that torture room of y - " Clarke cut her off again.

"Med bay, Raven! It's okay; I'll take you to him." She motioned behind her at the… corpse… and Bellamy nodded, his mouth a thin determined line. Clarke snagged Raven's hand and headed back to the ship. Once she had the time, Clarke would take a private moment to grieve. This was not that time.

They arrived just as Drew finished tying Monty's hands behind his back. Raven rushed forward, grabbing Monty in a petrified hug before checking on the bindings to make sure they were not too tight; for now, she decided it was safer if they stayed on. Bellamy's lapdogs looked ready for a party. She caught sight of the bruise developing under Monty's left eye then, and rounded on Drew and Miller, preparing for battle. She stared Miller down; he glanced away quickly, and she turned instead to his notoriously violent partner.

"You fucking _hit _him, Drew? You _hit him_? You sick bastard. Why? – Cuz it made you feel tough?" Raven was in his face, staring up at the tall broad boy like she was ready to claw out his eyes and feed them back to him. "Why don't you try that on _me _next time, you little shit!"

"Raven, it wasn't them," Monty called out gently. "This… this was all Finn."

His voice broke through to her. Raven dismissed Drew instantly and rocketed back to Monty. This time when she neared him, she grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely. Monty kissed her back, his body leaning in to hers longingly, his arms straining against the ties at his wrists. Clarke knew her own mouth had dropped open only when she glanced at Bellamy's appointed prison guards and saw them both equally slack-jawed. Monty and Raven seemed oblivious to everyone else in the room.

"You never answered me, Ray," Monty whispered tenderly. "Did Finn hurt you?" Raven pulled away for a moment.

"It's nothing," she deflected. She ran the tips of her fingers lightly over the swelling along Monty's cheekbone. "Hey, you're going to look super bad-ass in a day or two," she smiled through her tears.

Bellamy finally arrived, Finn's body in tow. He slipped up behind Clarke and kissed the top of her head softly, taking a moment to run one protective hand over her stomach before moving to Miller for an update. He had barely formed his first question when he was interrupted by a surprised cry from behind him.

"Bellamy! What the hell!" Clarke exploded. He turned to see her standing by Finn's corpse, her hands on her hips.

"I thought you needed to examine him," Bellamy tried.

"No. No! I don't know how, I _definitely_ don't need to, and I'd refuse to do it anyway!" Clarke yelled. "Get him out of here, now!" She bit back a new set of tears. When had everyone decided she was responsible for all this? She had been an intern, for fuck's sake! On a ship with a medical computer that could perform 75% of basic diagnostic functions without so much as undressing the patient! This world was… It was like those stories of the old Wild West, and she had been outfitted with a bucket of contaminated well water and a rusty saw and told to go perform miracles. Usually she did her best; but asking her to conduct a completely pointless autopsy… on Finn… Bellamy had gone way too far this time. Clarke shivered a bit.

"Monty, let me check that bruise, okay? It looks like you have a cut - that should probably be cleaned." She strode forward, desperate to be useful to the living.

"Clarke, could you… could you maybe check on Raven first, please? I'm sure she's been hurt," Monty begged, stepping to the edge of the exam bed. With his hands tied behind him, his shoulders were starting to ache – and his left eye wouldn't stop watering above the livid bruise – but Monty needed to know Raven would be okay, first.

"Monty, what the hell happened?" Bellamy intoned as Clarke bent to Raven, now seated at the far end of the bed. Bellamy had taken up position against the nearest wall for support, once he had Finn's body dispatched.

"It was an accident; Raven, you have to believe me!" Monty moaned, staring across at her in torment, ignoring Bellamy for now. "I never thought I could ki-" he stopped, and swallowed hard. "I didn't know he would die," he tried instead. His voice was a whisper.

"I just… Raven matters to me," he murmured, finally turning to Bellamy. "A lot."

"Monty, I-" Raven began, but Monty continued, the words tumbling after one another quickly now.

"It's all my fault, I guess. I asked her to come by tonight, after dinner. I think Finn was following her and when he saw us together, he kind of flipped out. I don't know, I think maybe he'd had a little too much to drink?" Monty shook his head, suddenly feeling guilty for his moonshine collection. "Anyway, he was screaming at her, calling her names. He said she ruined his life. I really did try, I tried to step in, to calm him down; but he pushed me down, and he hit me, and then he just… attacked Raven." Monty's face had gone pale; his black eyes took on a haunted look. "I knew he was going to kill her. He had a knife somehow, and he was so pissed, he kept saying something about a baby that should have been his…" He stopped suddenly and looked at Raven. "Are you...?" he whispered, but she cut him off.

"No, Monty, that's... I'll explain later," she assured him quietly, glancing back at Miller and Drew. Clarke sighed in relief at her friend's loyalty even in this moment of torment and confusion.

"I needed to protect her," Monty continued, turning back to Bellamy again. "It was all I could think about! I just wanted to stop him from killing her, I swear. I never meant to…" Monty broke down then, tears pouring as the harsh finality of his actions came crashing around his shoulders. Raven pushed Clarke away and scrambled along the exam bed until she was next to him. One look at the determined set of her jaw told Bellamy and Clarke not to intervene.

"Monty, you can't blame yourself," Raven asserted, staring up into his eyes. "You did _everything_ right, okay? You'll be fine. It will all be fine. Clarke and Bellamy'll take care of it." She reached out for him again, brushing his dark shaggy hair from his eyes with a tenderness that exposed the true depth of their connection. Monty smiled weakly and leaned his cheek into the palm of her hand.

Bellamy snagged at Clarke's jacket sleeve as she moved past him in search of a suture kit.

"She's making promises I can't keep," he warned quietly, crossing his arms. Clarke pursed her lips in thought. She knew what he was implying.

"I think we need to take our time, so we make the right decision," Clarke responded, her voice equally low.

"He killed someone, Clarke. He killed one of our own, in camp. That's banishment, you know that." Clarke exhaled heavily.

"But if he really was protecting Raven? Doesn't that count for something?"

"So now the line is black and white, except when your best friend is involved?" Bellamy's eyes narrowed at that idea. Clarke leaned back, defensive.

"No, that's not it. But what about protecting yourself? Shouldn't there be some circumstances where there's room for discussion?"

"But this wasn't even self-defense, Clarke," Bellamy pointed out, less quietly this time. Clarke thought about that for a moment.

"Okay then. So if your roles were reversed; if you were standing in Monty's shoes and Finn had gone after me…?" She knew by the sharp pained look on Bellamy's face that she had done it again, she had crossed that invisible barrier into the realm of off-limit topics, and bit her lip in regret.

"Look, I'm sorry, that was too far. I just… We'll continue this later. Alright?" She grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, then moved on to gather the materials she needed.

"Raven, if Monty's story is true, then I'll need to check you more thoroughly for injuries," Clarke explained as she moved back to the pair.

"Of course it's fucking true, Clarke! Why would he lie?" Raven was beginning to fall apart from the utter incomprehensibility of the night's events.

"Okay, Raven, I didn't mean it like that," Clarke soothed. This was all too much; the room felt claustrophobic, and everyone's emotions were floating right at the surface; it was all ready to explode. She needed to alleviate the pressure somehow. "… You know what? I need some privacy boys, so I can do my job." She stared pointedly at Bellamy and his men. Miller moved forward, ready to take Monty, but Clarke stepped between them.

"I'll vouch for the prisoner," she said calmly, looking past Miller at Bellamy. "He should stay here. I'll make sure you know if he gives us any other details." Bellamy hesitated only briefly; he knew that look on Clarke's face, knew better than to pick this fight.

"Let's go," he barked, turning on his heel. Clarke watched him limp out of the ship, and lamented her tone with him. He was still her patient, and clearly he was still in pain. But she needed to wrap her mind around what had happened, without Bellamy and his guards as a menacing backdrop to her work. Once they were clear of the ship's entrance, Clarke moved to the couple leaning against each other in shock and grief.

"Monty, let's untie you," she began. With his hands now free, Monty pulled Raven into his arms protectively.

"Raven, I am so sorry. Do you hate me?" he asked her, only letting go when Clarke stepped forward with her suture kit once again. She needed access to the deep gash along Raven's upper arm. At least the knife story checked out.

"You were trying to help! How could I hate you?"

"I just… It's Finn. He means a lot to you, I know that," Monty explained somberly; he couldn't yet bring himself to use the past tense. Raven's eyes welled with tears at his words and she looked down at her hands, pinched together against the pain of the needle sewing her arm back together.

Once she had tied off the sutures, Clarke set the equipment down on the bed and turned away. She felt silly, mourning Finn, when so much of her recent life had been turned upside down by him. But he was her first, and she had shared so much of her first days on Earth with him, and there was a part of her that _had_ really cared for him.

Raven placed a hand on her back then, and Clarke turned around. Whatever she was going through, Raven must be feeling it tenfold. Finn was her whole life for so long; and to know he had died at Monty's hand? That must be torture. But Raven wasn't thinking about Monty's part in it at all. As far as she was concerned, he was completely innocent. Somehow, she had compartmentalized Monty's actions and Finn's passing.

"The last thing I said to him was that we couldn't be friends right now," Raven sobbed quietly.

"The last thing I said was that he should leave before Bellamy hurt him," Clarke whispered back. The girls leaned into each other, relying on the other's grief to help them through their own. The tears poured.

At some point, Clarke realized she was no longer crying for Finn, or for the loss of him. She was crying for Raven. Raven, the lost baby bird with the brittle exterior, whose only knowledge of love had been Finn. Raven, whose fragile world had been crushed under the weight of a lover's thoughtless transgression. Clarke needed to heal Raven; she needed to heal the hurt in her, but she didn't know how. She pulled back from their embrace, her tears spent for now... And watched as Monty and Raven reached out and found each other again, watched Monty open his kind, generous, beautiful heart for Raven and pull her in, absorbing her pain without a second thought or a backward glance.

…

Clarke found Bellamy in the completed house. Miller nodded to her from the long table in the middle of the open outer room, then said his goodbyes to them both and slipped away for the night.

"I can't tell if he thinks he's your little brother, or if he wants us to adopt him," Clarke sighed as she slid onto the low bench beside Bellamy and laid her head on his shoulder. She was so tired; she could happily sleep for a year, wrapped in his arms.

"He's still not over the Lincoln thing," Bellamy explained. "He's a good man to have around; I've got to make sure he feels needed." Clarke looked up at him as he spoke and saw the dark circles under his eyes. The past two days had been rougher than either of them could have expected. They held each other silently for a while.

"When did we get a table?" Clarke asked finally. Bellamy smiled.

"One of the guys built it. He likes making things, so he's working on some other furniture for the rest of the camp, too." She nodded in understanding, amazed at how life seemed to go on around them even on the worst of days.

"Clarke, what did you do with Monty?"

"He and Lincoln are bunkmates on the third floor, for now," she yawned. "Where else could I put him? It's the closest thing we have to a prison."

"And we've put two good men in there," Bellamy said. His voice was a low rumble, a judgment of them both.

"I know."

"How the fuck did this happen?" He asked the empty room. He shifted slightly, letting Clarke's head slide down onto his lap, stroking her hair absentmindedly as he continued. "I thought about banishing Finn. A lot. But this death feels…" he stopped, unsure how best to express the bad taste it left in his mouth. "… it feels wrong."

"Because everyone loses," Clarke agreed. She closed her eyes and focused on this moment of calm. Bellamy's fingers stroking along her face were gentle and soothing. His warm strong leg, the smell of his body engulfing her, driving all the terror back… Clarke's anxiety waned and her worries for Lincoln and Octavia, for Mei and the baby, for Raven and Monty were dulled as her exhaustion caught up to her and she let it carry her off.


	22. Chapter 22

_[A/N: Thank you for your patience! I know I've been a bit delayed with this one; but frankly, it's also wicked long so I feel like I'm offering up two chapters as compensation! Pretty please keep reviewing/commenting, I read and agonize over each and every one! I'm fairly sure I've lost some readers by now, but I hope those of you that are sticking with me know how much I appreciate your persistence. :) Warning: This chapter is not as Bellarke-focused, but I PROMISE the story returns solidly to them in Chapter 23!]_

_[A/N2: As always, please support my Beta, Marina Black1, and her fantastic work - including two _amazing_ pieces for The 100!]_

**...**

**"****You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable…  
Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,  
And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream****."  
~ Khalil Gibran**

**...**

_It started slowly. So slowly, Raven never knew what hit her. When she first arrived there was just the work to be done. After a while there was the work, and one kid who seemed smart enough to actually be useful. Then it became the work, and Monty was always around to help, to laugh with and bounce ideas off. And somehow, one day, it was different: it was Monty, and their work together._

_She never bothered fighting against her feelings, because she did not even realize how much they were shifting, changing, solidifying, until it was too late. One wintry night as Monty walked her back to her tent, the conversation was a little different. The light banter wasn't as light, and right before they reached their destination he reached out and touched her hand, hesitantly at first, and she frowned in shock at the way her chest tightened, the way she wanted that touch and what it implied. She had so little experience - really just one relationship, one needy, fucked-up, dependent relationship - that she didn't even know what to do at first. She looked at him, scared._

_Monty did not expect fear. Anger, maybe. Condescension, maybe. Rejection, of course. The simple truth was, he couldn't fight it anymore, how much his life had come to revolve around Raven. For months he had suffered silently as she crept deeper and deeper into his soul, haunting him. He needed her to know, because the pain of hiding it from her was overwhelming. So when he reached for her hand he knew it would change everything. But to see her frightened… It threw him. She was fearless. She was a warrior. Even so, she looked down at the ground and whispered his name shyly, and then - so quietly he had to lean in - she admitted she had only ever been with Finn. Monty smiled with relief at that response. It wasn't exactly an admission that she returned his feelings, but neither was she telling him to stop._

_He hooked his fingers into hers, and she focused on the warmth of him while he told her that he was not going anywhere, that she was amazing, that even if this was all they were, it was enough for him. And she cried. She didn't deserve this; he was too good, too understanding, too gentle. She fled into her tent without saying good night, and spent the evening hating herself for running from him._

_The next night he did it again; as they approached her tent, he slipped his hand around hers, stroking his thumb lightly along her palm, and she shut her eyes against the desire that simple touch evoked. This time she remembered to say good night; and the next night, too. There was a sense of inevitability to the evening walks, and an understanding that this was just theirs. This place had a toxic effect on so many relationships, thanks in part to the stress of life here but also to the gossip around the campfires; nobody, not even Jasper or Clarke, could know about whatever was budding here._

_It was on the fourth night that they shared their first kiss. Raven initiated it; Monty would never force that on her. This time when she said good night, she leaned in, intending to give him a quick peck on the cheek. It seemed a perfectly friendly move. But as she pulled nearer, she caught sight of his inky-black eyes, so intense, so full of her, and she twisted just enough to catch the corner of his mouth with her own._

_She was not prepared for the warm soft strength of his lips, or for her reaction to him. Her world tumbled and she grabbed his arm to steady herself. It was like the difference between the front and back of a spoon: turned one way, the world appeared upside down, but with a simple twist everything had righted itself._

_Raven smiled against his mouth, not wanting to stop, wanting more from him, and he… pulled away. He smiled back at her happily, squeezed her hand, and then leaned in to whisper good night to her before brushing his lips against her cheek and heading home._

_Monty walked back to his tent that night praying Jasper was already asleep; he knew he was grinning madly, and would not be able to explain himself if questioned._

_The next day he vacated the drop-ship during the ultrasound tests, and it was torture to be away from her. When Raven found him at lunchtime, and teasingly demanded that he fulfill his promise of explaining how he repaired the ultrasound equipment, it was all he could do not to grab her hand and take off with her. He didn't even care where, just… away from everyone. Instead he smiled and patted the spot next to him, and she settled in to spar with him over things like current, and voltage, and to pretend his thick dark hair wasn't calling to her fingers so temptingly._

_He struggled more than usual when darkness came. Raven was drinking with the others at the bonfire, probably in reaction to an emotional day in the med bay. After Finn left for the evening, Monty gently pulled a dozing Jasper off Raven's shoulder and held out his hand to her. She moved to his side with a ready smile, and Monty prayed the majority of their friends were already too inebriated to notice the pair slip away. When she reached for him outside her tent, expecting a repeat of their kiss from the night before, Monty sighed and stopped her. She was drunk; she would do something she regretted, and that's not what he wanted from her at all._

_He insisted on helping her into her tent, intent on seeing her safely to bed; once inside she turned on him, though, and with a smart-ass grin she rattled off the alphabet in reverse, then the periodic table of the elements by atomic number. His eyes widened in surprise and Raven explained that it took a lot more than a couple passes of moonshine around the bonfire to get her drunk. Then she kissed Monty the way she should have that first night: with all the care and tenderness he had shown her, until it was just the two of them in this moment, and everything else slipped away temporarily, held at bay by the simplicity of their attraction to each other. Monty didn't sleep at all that night; he was too busy remembering the way her lips had moved against his, the way her thick, loose hair felt under his hands, the way she had whimpered when he stopped them yet again. Monty was no fool; he wasn't going to be the rebound, the quick screw that got Raven over Finn. He had a much longer endgame in mind._

_The next night, Monty waited for Raven outside his tent and silently, cautiously, the two crept hand-in-hand toward a surprise Monty had arranged for her. They were both perfectly content in the easiness of being together - until Finn Collins appeared out of nowhere, a violent, inconceivably angry shadow of himself, and tore their lives in half._

…

"How's Jasper?" They were sitting side-by-side on the floor of Monty's prison.

"He still hasn't come by?" Raven was genuinely surprised. By all accounts Jasper should have been here four days ago, as soon as the news began to spread. "I'm sorry, Monty. I've told him over and over again, but…"

"No, it's fine. He's got more important stuff to worry about, I'm sure." Monty stared at the dawn light outside the tiny third-floor window of the drop-ship. With Lincoln off on some top-secret mission for Bellamy and Clarke the past two days, he was at least able to enjoy some privacy. Not that Lincoln had been a very chatty bunkmate; but he seemed to take up an awful lot of space. Monty was also pretty sure he looked a lot more attractive when he wasn't sitting right next to Captain Abs for comparison.

"Monty, it's not fine. But I think it's more, just – he doesn't know what to say to you, that's all."

"Fair enough. I wouldn't know what to say to me, either." He looked so forlorn; Raven's heart beat heavily for him. She slid around to face him, grabbing his shoulders lightly and giving him a hopeful smile.

"Look, it's been days, and they haven't banished you yet. That's a good sign."

"Come on, Raven, you know they'll have to do it eventually. They have to set an example."

"If they do, I'll go, too!" Raven looked determined, and a little scared, but very serious. "I won't leave you, Monty. Not when I _just_ found you!" She looked away, cursing her own tears as they coursed down her face. Monty shifted, leaned forward, and gently slipped a stray lock of hair behind Raven's ear. During the day she insisted on the ponytail, since loose hair could get caught in gears. When it was just the two of them, though, and the work was done, she freed her long brown hair and he loved how its gentle waves framed her face.

"I'll try again, okay?" she whispered. "I think Clarke's on our side. Bellamy… he's being a bit of a dick, frankly." Raven had expected more from them. She couldn't see the problem; Monty had very likely saved her life, and should be celebrated as a hero. And yet, when she walked through camp on the way to the drop-ship in the mornings, she caught the little whispers, the furtive glances. Finn had made friends, and those friends had a lot of opinions about Raven and Monty.

"Raven? Can you try talking to Jasper again, too? He and I have been through everything together. I don't know if I can do this without him." Raven nodded and wiped her face with her shirt, then shook herself in an attempt to get a grip on the moment.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to help Clarke with some stuff in the med bay," she whispered, moving as if to stand. Now that Monty was in on Clarke and Bellamy's big secret, she felt much freer talking about it around him.

"Raven…" His hand caught her forearm. She looked up and allowed herself a moment to admire his sharp cheekbones and blacker-than-night eyes. Monty pulled her in to a deep hungry kiss, the first time in their young relationship that he had acted with anything but chivalrous restraint. This rare glimpse of his raw physical need for her… It thrilled her. She responded in kind, wanting to make sure he understood how much she longed for him, too. Again, he pulled away before she was ready; this time though, she actually sighed in frustration.

"Why, Monty? What's stopping you?" She was starting to worry she was misreading his signals.

"Not like this," was the only explanation he could offer her.

…

Miller walked slowly along the icy path, trying to be patient and unobtrusive as he carried out this latest assignment. Why had Clarke asked him to shadow her assistant? Mei was so quiet; it wasn't like she would be out stirring up trouble. The fact that Clarke had specifically asked him to keep out of sight… he knew he was spying for her, there was no way to pretend it was anything else. He was basically okay with that, but he wanted to know why.

At least Bellamy was more involved in the day-to-day affairs again. Sort of. It would be another few weeks before he healed fully. Clarke had definitely saved his life back in that barn, which was the main reason she had any sway with Miller now. She was not his favorite person most of the time, but he had seen how much it took from her, piecing Bellamy back together like that. So yeah, if she needed a spy he'd be a spy.

There were worse assignments these days, that was for sure. Wall duty was shitty right now, with the ice rains. If you stood still for too long, it would actually crust over on you. That was the pits. And moving along the upper levels was treacherous. Bellamy wouldn't even assign the runners to the upper levels anymore, in case they slipped and broke a leg. No thank you; Miller would much rather just stalk the cute girl for Clarke, instead. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as Mei glanced quickly around and slipped into an empty tent, recently vacated by two teens heading for breakfast. Snooping? Unlikely… So then, why -? Ah. _Privacy_. That could be suspicious, he supposed, although everyone here felt the pressure of the constant public scrutiny. He didn't blame her for wanting a moment alone; but he also had a job to do, so he circled around until he was able to find an angle that allowed him to see through the partially-closed tent flap. He watched, mesmerized, as Mei slowly shed her winter layers. When she was down to her t-shirt, she lifted the fabric covering her stomach and her hands dropped soothingly to the swell that nestled between her hips.

Miller swore under his breath at the discovery. No wonder Clarke was being so careful with her! This was what all the fuss had been about, then. One of the girls _was _pregnant. Miller stared as her eyes closed and she sang softly to the little bump she cradled so tenderly; it was an old Chinese lullaby he couldn't understand. Her voice was lovely, high and clear and soft, and he felt uncomfortable for the first time in days, watching like this. Miller decided he needed a new tactic. For one thing, Clarke ought to have told him Mei should be careful on the ice. It was everywhere. What if she fell? Fucking shit… Bellamy would never let him hear the end of it, if Mei or the baby got hurt on his watch. He affected a nonchalant air and waited until she was just stepping out of the tent, before wandering past as if he had somewhere to be.

"Hey," he began. Mei stared at him in surprise. He realized this was probably the first time he had ever spoken to her directly.

"Hi, Miller," she responded cautiously.

"Damn, it's icy out here, huh?" Miller was making an ass of himself, but at least he wasn't spying any more. "Where you headed?"

"Med bay," Mei answered. She still had that wary look on her face.

"Oh yeah, me too. I need to… umm. Mind if I walk with you?" Mei shrugged, and the pair set off along the slick path.

…

From the entrance of the drop-ship, Clarke watched Bellamy moving among the young men under his care and her brow creased in torment. He was beautiful. His mouth, frowning in thought as it was now… she wanted to feel that mouth on her skin. His hands, broad and strong, pitching in where he could despite the ribs that were still not fully healed… she wanted those hands to strip her naked. His strong warm body, hidden to others but visible to her artist's eyes… she needed to feel it pressed against her bare flesh, needed him to fill her, make her whole the way he did in the night. She cleared her throat as Miller and Mei approached, and tried to think of something else.

Miller was disobeying orders. That seemed like a good start. She smiled at the pair and greeted Mei, then turned to Miller.

"Just the man I want to talk to," she began, keeping her voice light and conflict-free until Mei was safely inside. Then her attitude shifted, and her eyes flashed. "What the hell?! Miller, I was_ very_ clear." Ever since Monty's lockup, Raven had been too preoccupied to assist with Mei. And since Clarke needed to make sure _someone_ kept an eye on the girl, she had turned to Miller for secret help.

"Yeah, but you forgot to tell me _why_ she's so important, didn't you?" Miller quickly shot back. He nearly grabbed her arm, but thought better of it. The momentary hesitation wasn't lost on Clarke; she narrowed her eyes at him threateningly but silently waited for him to continue. "She's pregnant, isn't she?" Miller whispered harshly, leaning in to keep the news between them.

Clarke nodded once, tersely.

"But that doesn't excuse your behavior, Miller. You were supposed to be surreptitious. Should I have the Ark download a dictionary for you?"

"In case you missed it, there isn't a square inch of this forest that isn't coated in ice. What was I supposed to do? Let her slip, so that I could keep my cover? She shouldn't be walking around in this stuff alone. It's too dangerous," Miller accused, still keeping his voice low and his body bent toward hers.

Bellamy was suddenly there. He hadn't approached them, or called over from the other side of the yard; he just appeared, as if he had always been there, standing a little too close to Miller's shoulder for comfort.

"Something you need help with, Miller?" Bellamy's menacing look made it quite clear that there was absolutely _nothing_ Clarke had that Miller could possibly need. The younger boy swallowed hard.

"Just updates on Mei," he clarified, backing up slowly. Bellamy didn't look like he believed it. He turned to Clarke, searching her face for any sign that Miller had been inappropriate.

Clarke normally had little time or patience for Bellamy's perpetual low-simmer jealousy. Today though, his possessiveness sent an electric current through her body, one that settled in her womb and heated her from the inside.

She really had to get these pregnancy hormones under control.

"Miller's fine, Bellamy," she admitted, and glanced past Bellamy at his subordinate. "I can see your point about the ice. But you've _got_ to be subtle. Okay?" Miller nodded and took advantage of the moment to slip away.

Alone together suddenly, Clarke tried not to think about Bellamy's proximity. He had moved into her personal space when Miller left, and now her world was filled with the smell of him, the sight of him, the heat of him…

"I need you," she whispered huskily.

"Any time, Princess," he smiled.

"_Right now_." His eyes widened, but his mouth curled into a wicked grin and he grabbed her waist, bending to kiss her with a longing that left Clarke gasping. The men were still gathered around, waiting for Bellamy; their catcalls and whistles brought Clarke back to the moment, and she blushed, embarrassed by the attention.

That was too much for Bellamy. The delicate pink climbing her cheeks, so similar to the flush she bore when he made love to her… it set him on fire. Without bothering to explain himself, or even to acknowledge the crowd's presence, Bellamy dragged Clarke swiftly through the mass of bodies to their home.

They slammed through the door in a torrent of hot caresses and discarded clothing, and Clarke barely managed to kick it shut before Bellamy was pulling her back to him, his eyes calling for her hungrily. She stripped the last of his clothing from his body, and delighted in capturing his hard perfect form against her own aching, bare flesh. They were never going to make it to the bedroom. She realized that now. Instead, she eyed the table behind them and decided to test its craftsmanship.

She pushed him down onto the flat surface, and Bellamy stared up in wanton desire at this blonde goddess as she slowly, lightly dragged herself across his chest. His fingers laced themselves into her hair and he kissed her tenderly, needing desperately to show her how much he loved her. Clarke's mouth parted invitingly and he groaned at the sweet heat of her breath, at the taste of her. This was his haven, his refuge; he needed her so viscerally he worried she would be frightened if she understood just how much of his life was _her_.

Taunting him with every small movement, Clarke finally straddled him and as he entered the warm, ready depths of her, she whimpered with pleasure at being made whole again. She was ceaselessly enthralled by how he filled her, how he knew what she needed before she needed it; now, as her body changed with the pregnancy, she was discovering that she reacted to him in new and unexpected ways. He grabbed her hands and pulled her down for a kiss, and she cried out in astonishment as she felt her whole being suddenly come apart in wave after quivering wave of pleasure. She bent over him, panting, waiting for her racing heart to recover.

Bellamy waited as patiently as he could, until Clarke raised her face to smile at him ecstatically. He kissed her softly and ran his hands down her sides to her hips, gripping her close as he shifted her ever-so-slightly. He was rewarded when a surprised moan of delight escaped her parted lips, and her eyes widened in wonder at the realization that he hadn't finished with her.

…

Clarke appeared at the main campfire just as lunch was finishing, and studiously avoided the lecherous gaze of several less mature teens. She searched out a few specific members of the group, called them by name, and ordered them to the main house. Then she moved past them to the drop-ship, sighing heavily as she did so.

She asked Mei to head to the house as well, before climbing the ladder to the third level. Mei headed down the ramp of the drop-ship and was surprised to bump into Miller again, who had received the same orders. They decided to walk together.

"Raven? Monty?" Clarke's voice traveled ahead of her, so that by the time her head poked through the open hatch, her two miserable friends were standing with their hands twined together, ready to accept whatever news she came to deliver. "We're meeting at the main house. Let's go," she announced, and was gone.

Raven looked at Monty, searching his face for some sign that he had seen _any_ clue in Clarke's expression.

"If I survive this, let's never play poker against her. Deal?" Monty whispered. Raven smiled but also shook her head. _Shit._ Nothing for it, then.

They were the last to arrive at the house, which was probably good. There were enough hostile looks in the crowd that Raven felt a little nervous for Monty's safety. The room held about a third of the population, with Bellamy and Clarke seated at a long table toward the front. They both looked far too serious for Raven's taste.

"Okay, hold on! Just wait a second," Raven burst out as she and Monty closed the distance between themselves and the table. This felt a lot like the old ways on the Ark, with the Chancellor's council arbitrating over a powerless citizenry. She looked at Monty and realized he had already read the writing on the wall. His grief broke something inside her, and she stopped in the middle of the room, lifted one hand to his chest, and leaned her cheek against his for support before turning to face his judges.

"No way is this okay. Uh-uh! …Fuck you, Bellamy. This is ridiculous! You're not a god down here, you can't just decide who lives and who dies!" Raven could feel the heat in her face as her blood pounded in rage. Clarke leaned forward to intervene.

"Raven -"

"No! No, Clarke, don't even try to talk to me, not ever again after this. I thought you were our friend, Clarke, you know Monty! He doesn't deserve this!"

"Raven, I'm still -"

"Dammit! Stop trying to interrupt me! This is complete bullshit, and you know I'm right. Bellamy promised us all a change. You both did. A chance to rewrite the rules. But you're just going to float him, exactly like Jaha would, Bellamy!" She was crying in her anger now. "You're a fucking hypocrite. Really." She turned and collapsed against Monty, who had remained stoic throughout the course of Raven's emotional outburst. His resolve strengthened hers, and eventually she was able to calm herself enough to look at him. He smiled at her, but those deep eyes told her the real story, and she shook her head and bit her lip against the torment she saw. She kissed him, a teary, messy kiss that nevertheless staggered him in its intensity, and turned back to Clarke and Bellamy for one last attack.

"Just so you know, I've already promised Monty that I'll go with him. So the next time one of your little toys gets fucked up, you can all just go straight to hell, because we'll be gone!" She stuck her chin out defiantly as she spoke.

"Stop!" Bellamy's low bellow filled the room, and Raven shrank back despite herself. She had not even noticed when he stood, but now he seemed to tower over the room. "Raven, shut the hell up. For just… just a moment." He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. With everyone's attention now firmly on him, Bellamy cleared his throat quickly and continued.

"Look, this is not easy, not for any of us. Every day down here could be our last. We've had to fight for every extra day, and to learn as we go - which means there have been mistakes." A careful observer would have noted how his hand sought out Clarke's at that point, how her fingers slipped easily between his and stayed there. "Banishment has kept us safe from each other inside the Wall. Murphy was our first and last case, and I wanted to keep it that way. But when there's violence among our own people, we have to take that seriously. We also have to balance those claims against the best interests of the group," Bellamy continued, raising his voice slightly to counter the low murmur that had sprung up in the crowd. "In this case, we have no reason to believe Monty would lie about the circumstances behind Finn's death. In fact, Clarke had to stitch up a pretty serious cut on Raven's arm - and Miller removed a makeshift weapon from Finn's possessions that night." Miller stepped forward at the mention of his name, and placed a sharpened sliver of metal onto the table in front of Clarke. She shivered and looked away from the brown stains along one edge. Bellamy sighed. He was tired.

"Even if Raven hadn't so _kindly_ threatened to leave, we would be in real trouble without Monty. You all know how hard he's worked for our survival, day after day. Banishing him will only damage our community."

The room was silent, unsure if this was the end, and Bellamy took advantage of the hesitation.

"Some of you are here because you've said Monty should be punished, and you were angry that we didn't take care of it earlier. If you have anything to say to Monty, or to us, now's your chance and you won't get another." At that, Bellamy pushed his shoulders back and waited for the onslaught. He was surprised to see several people muttering with neighbors, but nobody actually stepped forward.

"Okay, then. Playtime is over, the conversation is closed. Monty stays. Anyone that feels like they have something to say to Monty about this, well… from here on out, they'll answer to me directly. That's all." He sat down with finality and leaned into Clarke; most of the audience members had already turned to their neighbors to dissect the recent turn of events, so they missed the little caress of his cheek, the gentle kiss they shared before Clarke helped him stand and slipped with him into their private rooms at the back of the house for a moment of quiet recovery.

Raven turned to Monty, her mouth agape, still processing what had happened. For the first time in days, Monty's face had color and his eyes sparkled with life; he opened his mouth, about to say something, when a great gangly mass of relieved Jasper hurled itself right at the two of them.

"Monty!" Jasper yelled, grabbing his best friend in an awkward hug. Monty mouthed an apology to Raven before turning his attention to the skinny teen. Raven stepped back and watched the two friends - very nearly brothers - find each other again.

"Jasper, man, where've you been?" Monty asked once he'd been set down. He tried not to sound hurt, but he was.

"I'm sorry buddy, I… I thought they might banish you. I couldn't do it. I couldn't face you, unless I knew I had done everything in my power to stop it." His thin face was the definition of anguish.

"I - I don't -"

"Monty, hey," Bellamy intoned from behind them, and the boys spun quickly. Their leader smiled at the friends and placed a heavy hand on Jasper's shoulder, under which the skinny teen nearly collapsed. "You know, you have a very persistent friend. Jasper lobbied for your release so hard, I actually _considered_ his offer of trading places with you." Bellamy grinned mischievously. "Apparently you have that affect on people," he finished, eyeing Raven narrowly. She swallowed hard but stared back in defiance.

"Yes, he does," she retorted. "He's a good guy, Bellamy. And good guys _earn_ their respect." Bellamy just shook his head at her and walked away, seeking out Clarke in the crowd.

"Raven, what are you doing?" Jasper hissed nervously. "Have you heard the warning about poking the bear? Because, just to be clear: _that guy's_ the bear!"

"I've missed you, Jasper," Monty smiled as Raven pulled herself to his side once again. The three of them headed back to the main yard, chatting and laughing with giddy relief.

…

Night had come to the compound. Jasper and Raven sat on either side of Monty, forming a protective shell against the lingering stares and whispers that reached them across the bonfire. As people faded, couples and small groups broke away and headed off to sleep. Or not sleep.

Jasper pushed his sharp shoulder into Monty's arm, and when his friend turned, the lanky teen grinned conspiratorially.

"I'm kicking you out of our tent tonight, man," he announced softly. "You've really been cramping my style these days. Gosh, I sure hope you can find somewhere else for the night. Good night, Raven!" and with that, he was gone. Monty looked after him with a half-smile, while Raven nestled on his shoulder.

"Are you tired?" he asked her. She lifted her head to look at him softly.

"No," she answered honestly. He stood and offered his hand anyway, and she let him help her up. They walked back to her tent through the chilly night air, hand-in-hand, silent now; content to let the quiet moonlight envelope them, wash away the horrors of the past five days. As they neared their destination, Monty's hand tightened around hers and his thumb slid up to her wrist, running gently over the delicate skin there. Raven's pulse jumped and she bit her lip, wondering if he was going to slip away from her too soon, the way he always did.

He stopped outside the entrance to her tent and pulled her around to him; he released her fingers, and with both hands captured her face adoringly. They shared a sweet, simple kiss. Monty pulled back slightly after a moment, staring deeply into Raven's eyes, searching for the truth of her beneath the layers and defenses, until at last he saw what lay way down at the bottom: the frail beauty, and the pain, and her aching fear. His heart exploded for her and he pulled her close, his mouth caressing hers, promising her a long future of happier experiences, of better and stronger and truer love.

They fell into each other, hesitantly at first, each afraid of hurting the other; but once inside Raven's tent, the relative warmth of the tiny space emboldened them. Raven clawed her way out of her clothes, shivering with the anticipation he had built in her so carefully; when he finally came to her, she stifled a cry of pleasure at the fire he ignited in her belly, and gasped to discover how sensitive her body was to him. He took his time, making sure she understood how much she was loved; how much she mattered; how much her joy exhilarated and fulfilled him. The darkness hid her beauty, but Monty's hands painted the picture for him as she panted in ecstasy; he carried her carefully along the very edge of bliss for what seemed an eternity, until finally Raven begged him in a low whimper to save her from herself. When he did, she screamed his name at the sensation and he pressed his mouth to hers quickly, stifling the sound before it woke up the rest of the forest.

After, as they were falling asleep in a mess of tangled legs and twisted blanket, Raven nuzzled into Monty's chest and whispered a quiet 'thank you' that bruised his heart. He slipped one finger under her chin and forced her face to his. Very little light filtered into the tent, but his lips found hers by instinct.

"Please don't do that, Raven," he whispered.

"Do what?" she asked, confused.

"Don't think you deserve anything less than the best out of life." His arms tightened around her protectively as he spoke. "I'm not an idiot; someday you'll realize that's not me. But until then, I promise you I'll _always_ give you the best I have, in everything."


	23. Chapter 23

_[A/N: Okay folks, thank you for putting up with my Monty/Raven "intermission". (Maven Forever, yo!) I needed to step back from the intensity that is Bellarke, and thought others might appreciate a quick break, too. __I was starting to lose it. _These two are just SO… oh my goodness. Anyway, THEY'RE BAAACK!]

_[A/N2: Thank you so much to my Beta, Marina Black1! YOU'RE THE BEST. Also, this chapter is dedicated to reviewer saderia for putting up with my non-Bellarke moments. This one's for you, my dear!]_

_[A/N3: **Livia** (referenced here) was the influential wife of Augustus for over 50 years (interestingly, a second marriage for both).]_

**...**

**"You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable… **  
**Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,  
And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream."  
~ Khalil Gibran**

**...**

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, did I mumble? No!"

"Bellamy…"

"For f – this is _not_ up for debate, Clarke!"

"You're right, it's not," Lincoln's voice sliced through the air between the couple. "You and I may arrange the details, but my people will only honor a deal brokered by Anya and her equal. It has to be Clarke." Bellamy turned away from Clarke's exultant smile and gripped the edge of the wooden table in white-knuckled anger. One week. That's what he had. One week – six days, really – to make all the arrangements for this meeting. One wrong move and their work would fall apart.

"How many of us will make the trip with her?" he finally asked. He began flipping through his own list of proven fighters: Miller, obviously. And Drew. Dell was a fucking prick, but he knew his way around hand-to-hand combat…

"Three," Lincoln replied. He licked his lips nervously. "And one must be her Second." Bellamy's inner monologue clicked to a stop at Lincoln's choice of words.

"Her _Second_."

"Yes."

"In case of…"

"Yes." Lincoln knew Bellamy would never have been able to finish that question.

"And I guess I'm not even good enough to serve as her Second?" Bellamy snarled in frustration. Lincoln nodded painfully.

"You do not have the… qualifications." Clarke snorted at Lincoln's wry sense of humor, and Bellamy shot her a grumpy frown. This was the least funny news he'd heard today.

"Dammit, Lincoln, you're making a lot of demands – and I haven't heard any concessions yet."

"Anya has conceded not to kill you all on sight," Lincoln explained, for perhaps the eighth time. Bellamy's jaw ticked and his mouth settled into a hard thin line. Clarke knew that look all too well. She stepped into his field of view and held up one hand in a placating gesture.

"Okay boys, maybe it's time I be allowed to participate, too?" Lincoln nodded gratefully. Clarke was so much more rational in this matter. Bellamy… Bellamy cared too much about her.

"I choose Octavia as my Second," the Healer announced. Both men immediately shook their heads.

"No way in _hell_, Clarke. You can't send my sister into this… this…" words failed him now. He grabbed her gently by the waist, pulling her to him protectively. Bellamy spread his hand over the now-just-visible bump at her hips out of habit. His eyes caught hers and he whispered, "How could I protect you and Octavia at the same time?"

"Octavia _will_ be there - with me. She has a different role to play," Lincoln asserted quietly. He knew how the news would be received, and waited patiently as Bellamy paced, agitated, trying to find the right outlet for this crushing frustration and fear.

"Bellamy," Lincoln finally called to him, "She will be with me at all times. I promise I will bring her back to you safely." Bellamy searched the warrior's face, and slowly nodded.

"You realize how little I value your life? And how much I value my sister's?"

"I do," Lincoln murmured.

"Then we understand each other?"

"Yes."

Bellamy started pacing again. He knew Clarke would choose Raven as her Second, which meant the final member of this little deadman's league would likely be Monty. A nice guy, sure – but not exactly top of Bellamy's list when designing a bodyguard dream team for Clarke. He turned beseeching eyes on the blonde woman at the center of this shit-storm, waiting for her to condemn them all to death.

"Then Mei can be my Second. And Miller should round out the team." She looked to Bellamy and smiled at the approval flowing off him.

Raven and Monty were much more useful at home, keeping the community safe. They had done it before, and had a system worked out. She was a little worried that the last few Finn supporters might stir up trouble, but decided a word of warning to the couple – and to Bellamy's remaining men – would suffice. Miller, though, was by far the best person to have with them on this trip; not because she worried about their safety, but because it would help Bellamy relax a bit. And if Lincoln's stories were true, then she and Mei were the safest of all now that they were both in their second trimester and their pregnancies were more obvious. Any other woman she selected would add a new risk factor. Besides, Miller was good for Mei. He took his responsibility very seriously but never overstepped himself, and Mei appreciated the emotional space the arrangement afforded her.

Bellamy glanced at Lincoln, who nodded. Clarke's instincts were good. None of Anya's people would attack a pregnant woman without severe provocation, even an enemy. There was a slight chance they could be taken captive, but Anya had promised Lincoln she would not allow that and he believed her. Anya disliked the practice favored by some of the other clan leaders. Women were not to be imprisoned; they should want to join her clan because they knew it was a wise choice. That other leaders disagreed was disappointing, and it was one reason she needed so many warriors out in the woods, protecting her lands.

…

Lincoln disappeared into the clammy February night and Bellamy stayed at the table a while longer, trying to let go of the tension that had haunted him for the past week. Lincoln's visit to the Grounders had not gone as well as they had hoped. The most he had been able to accomplish was coordinating this mind-numbingly insane meeting. Every muscle in Bellamy's body screamed _this is wrong_; they shouldn't negotiate with the people who had killed Mbege, Diggs, and Roma. His training told him he needed to think tactically – preparing raids and bulking up the Wall's defenses. But every time Clarke walked past, he was dragged unceremoniously back to that night in the med bay, to the tenacity of their child's frantic heartbeat, and he knew war was not an option. Bellamy had a duty to that perfect little hope now growing within Clarke, swelling her waist more and more each day. He had to make this a place where life was worth living.

He had first used the phrase with Clarke weeks ago; somehow in the intervening time, he had assumed responsibility for that ideal. This world was the only real legacy he would leave his children, so it was his duty to make it the best world he could.

Clarke's hand waved in front of him, cutting into his thoughts. She looked a bit worried at his glazed expression, and he smiled reassuringly, snagging that hand from the air so he could plant a quick kiss over her knuckles.

"Clarke, do you know what tomorrow is?" he asked her, feigning uncertainty.

"Yes, uh… February 14th," she replied.

"Valentine's Day." He smiled at her confused expression. "It was a holiday. I can't remember all the details but I know people used to give gifts. So, I have a gift for you, Princess." He tried to hide his excitement but failed.

Clarke watched as one corner of his mouth crept up in anticipation and her heart soared, not caring in the slightest about presents. Bellamy's boyish smile was exactly as much gift as she needed. When his face shined that way, he set off the butterflies in her stomach. Far too many pages of her journal were covered in failed attempt after failed attempt to capture the essence of it. Bellamy himself had offered a theory one morning, sneaking up behind her as she leaned over an exam table, brow furrowed in concentration, trying once again to capture his love on paper.

"It won't ever work, because _that_ guy can't see you," he had whispered into her shoulder, running his hands lightly up her arms as he kissed the soft angle at the base of her neck. She had laughed at the absurdity of the idea, twisting to face him, dropping her pencil and reaching instead for his actual lips. She had never gotten that grin quite right, and she was very nearly ready to concede his theory. It broke her heart, though, because always after she drew something, she knew it was hers forever; Bellamy's smiles remained just beyond her grasp, and she cherished each fleeting one, ever looking forward to the next.

Bellamy stood up and pressed his hands over Clarke's rounding belly. He knew it would be a few more weeks before they could expect to feel movement, but that wasn't his goal, anyway. He wanted the baby to feel _him_, to know him and know his devotion. This time around Bellamy was not a frightened child thrust into a role that was far too large for his five-year-old self. This time he was ready and he wanted it – wanted it so much he had begged Clarke for the chance to be a father to her child.

When they finally made their way to the bedrooms for the evening, Bellamy hung back for a beat, so that Clarke would be the first to enter their room. He was thrilled to hear her soft gasp, and when he walked in he found her sitting on the edge of the large hand-made bed, her mouth open slightly in wonder. She ran one hand gently over the frame, and looked up at him suspiciously.

"Who made this?" she asked. He shrugged.

"The same guy who made the table. I think he's getting better."

Clarke's brow furrowed. In retrospect, she probably should have probed more deeply when the first articles of furniture started appearing; but he'd been confined to the med bay back then - there was no way…

"What's his name?" There was a hint of interrogation in her tone. Bellamy frowned dismissively and shook his head.

"Can't remember."

"Uh-huh. I see. Well," Clarke rose and floated toward Bellamy, stopping an inch away from him, refusing to actually touch him. "Will you please tell him I love it? And also," Now she leaned in just a bit closer, her face so near she could have closed the distance simply by lifting her chin, "Tell him that I'd kiss the man who could build something so beautiful, if only I knew his name."

She held herself there, refusing to move; Bellamy's look of mischief faded, replaced with bare desire. He cleared his throat softly.

"I'm sure he'll appreciate hearing that, thank you."

"Admit it," she demanded. He laughed at her determination, and slowly – so very, very slowly, careful not to brush against her – shook his head in refusal. She sighed, and her breath tickled his chin. Somehow he was still managing to hold himself in check, although he knew his control was fraying at both ends.

"Why won't you just say it?" she finally asked. She tried to step back but his arms were already there, holding her against his hips.

"Because it doesn't matter," he offered, suddenly serious. "And because it's not just me. There's a whole team, and I'm just… one of them." Clarke nodded in comprehension.

Bellamy teased her about leaving business out in the front room, and he groused at her whenever she tried to bring the endless concerns of the community into bed with them – but it was just because Bellamy couldn't really do it, either. There was no part of his day when he wasn't a leader. Even though Clarke often found herself frustrated by all the chaos of her med bay, it was still a place where she could focus on something she knew she was good at; and while working, it wasn't her responsibility to think for everyone else at once.

"I understand," she admitted. There was a moment of silence.

"But who actually made the bed?" Clarke refused to give up. Bellamy laughed.

"What if it wasn't me? Will you still give them a kiss?"

"A promise is a promise," she nodded, serious. He shook his head at her tenacity and bent forward to claim his prize.

…

Lincoln and Octavia traveled with the group for most of the journey. The meeting site had been carefully selected on neutral ground, one-and-a-half days' journey from the camp. It was a miserable time to be crossing the forest; the thaw that had set in a week ago was followed by a fast freeze. There was nothing to help lift the spirits as they moved over the icy-muddy terrain. Clarke, Mei, and Octavia seemed barely to notice, though, clambering over fallen logs and sliding across frozen puddles with an energy that mystified their traveling companions. When Bellamy finally confronted Clarke, pointing out that they were not being careful enough, she just grinned at him before skipping deftly over a tiny crystallized stream. It put her just out of his reach for a brief moment and he frowned.

"I have been trapped inside the Wall for way too long, Bellamy. And really: I feel great!" She did. She felt like she could walk for days without tiring. Clarke was chaffing under Bellamy's concern, and she could tell Octavia had a similar problem.

Mei, on the other hand, was mostly suffering through confusion; Clarke was frustrated that Bellamy was _too_ loving, _too_ protective, and all Mei could think about was how her own child's father had planned to kill them both. Instead of building a loving family, she had become Miller's problem. She could not quite figure out if Bellamy had assigned Miller as her personal attendant, or if he was just a really nice guy with a lot of free time. She followed Clarke over the stream but her foot hit an icy rock, and she swore under her breath as she went down.

Or very nearly went down. He was there; he caught her, one arm slipping around her waist as if that's where it belonged. Miller righted her so quickly she quite nearly blushed. Instead she thanked him - a bit breathlessly. He just nodded and turned back to Lincoln, who was calling for his attention.

Lincoln tried his best to prepare the other men as they walked, painting in broad strokes a vision of the world that had raised him to be a warrior from the moment of his birth. After three generations of radiation exposure, Lincoln's society was dying a slow, nearly invisible death: there were so few successful births, and far too many tragedies, and their numbers were dwindling as each year passed. Anya was clever enough to see the Fallen Ones as a potential source of new blood. Bellamy swallowed hard; by new blood, Lincoln clearly meant "new women". He chose to use this as an opportunity to practice his skills at self-restraint, something he needed to perfect before the meeting. He could not let his temper complicate these talks.

Anya would do what was best for her people, Lincoln explained. She was more cautious than some of the others. She had to be walked carefully through the benefits to those under her protection. And it was important she feel she had come out of the talks the victor: Anya was prideful, but she had managed to maintain her position of authority because she was also shrewd. If her people had reason to suspect she was not caring for them well, they would desert her. Bellamy grimaced; Clarke's natural competitiveness might prove a challenge there. Bellamy still felt he and Clarke were being asked to give away too much – on a promise from a woman they had never met, a woman who had already given the order to kill. But Lincoln assured them Anya was trustworthy, and Bellamy believed him.

"Anya is not going to break her word," Lincoln promised, "Because nobody would negotiate with her again and her people would leave her. Or be killed while she was forced to watch." Clarke, listening to the conversation with one ear, cocked her head at that.

"I'm sorry, can you explain more about who would want to kill her people?" This seemed like information she would need.

"The others," Lincoln shrugged. "There are many clans. Some get along; many do not. You are the leader of the Clan of the Fallen Ones and right now, you don't get along with anyone. It is not a strong position."

"So… it's about alliances," Clarke murmured quietly. She had paused atop a gentle rise in the ground, and as she looked down at the men from her slight vantage point, Bellamy's chest tightened in admiration. There was a mist developing in the low places, lending an ethereal quality to the scene. She would never admit it, but she carried her chin with an imperiousness that brooked no arguments; and as sunlight struck her hair and set it afire, Bellamy caught a glimpse of why women held so much power down here. They were forces of nature, and men just ruined it all with their dirt and their blood and their fighting. He bounded up the embankment to her side. This woman, though, above all others… this woman was his empress, his Livia. She would be the mother of nations.

…

"O," Bellamy whispered, grabbing his sister into a bear hug. "Do what Lincoln tells you, okay? Don't be a smart-ass."

"Fuck off, Bell," she laughed. "I'll be fine!" Bellamy stepped back and gave her a hard stare.

"I'm serious, Octavia. This is no time to make it up as you go along. I need to know you're going to survive, okay?"

Clarke's throat tightened as she watched the siblings. Octavia was hiding behind that façade of teenage indifference, her go-to reaction whenever Bellamy started to get too emotional. He was always slightly hurt by it, even though he pretended it was fine.

Lincoln wandered up to Clarke and settled in to wait for the good-byes to end.

"You'll need this," he said, handing her a piece of paper that looked like it had been ripped from a journal. She unfolded it, curious, and smiled at the beautiful hand-drawn map. Lincoln was quite talented; he had included detailed images of the dangers they would be facing as they completed this last leg of the journey without him.

"Thank you, Lincoln," Clarke said simply. "You are a great ambassador for your people, you know." The tall, broad man snorted at her word choice.

"I was not raised for diplomacy," he pointed out. "I was raised to kill."

"And... How many people have you killed?" she whispered. She worried that the answer would change her opinion of him, but morbid curiosity won out.

Lincoln was silent for a long time; he watched as Octavia, finally teary, flung herself back into Bellamy's arms for one last, desperate hug.

"Before her… too many. After her… none." And with that he moved toward the Blake siblings, leaving Clarke shaking her head in wonder.

Lincoln and Octavia were ready to leave, but Lincoln grabbed Bellamy by the forearm for a final piece of advice.

"Bellamy. One thing: I know how important Octavia is to you. And if something happens to her, I know my life will be in your hands." Bellamy's eyes widened, but he nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you."

"I trust you can understand my meaning, then, when I tell you… Anya is _my_ sister."


	24. Chapter 24

_[A/N: I apologize for any delay in posting. I needed some time to recover from that season finale! Am I the only one who feels completely drained for a good 24-48 hours after each episode?]_

_[A/N2: I cannot even begin to express the depth of my gratitude for my Beta, Marina Black1. She had talked me down from multiple cliffs in the past three days! And in the midst of that, she managed to write three awesome chapters of her own, plus offer much-needed muse music. You rock, "__hermana"!]_

**...**

**"You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable… **  
**Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,  
And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream."  
~ Khalil Gibran**

**...**

He hadn't spoken to any of them in the hour since Octavia and Lincoln slipped away. Clarke told Mei and Miller to stop trying, to focus instead on getting to their campsite before nightfall. The darkness always came so quickly these days, especially in this dense pine forest. Lincoln's map was proving useful already; they had sidestepped a patch of pretty but toxic winter-blooming flowers and managed to avoid a flock of eerie predatory crows.

Clarke didn't dare speak the Grounder's name aloud though; there would be time for her to handle Bellamy's inevitable meltdown once the group was safe for the night. After another half hour, the small party arrived at their destination. The beauty of Lincoln's chosen site affected even the struggling Bellamy. How could it not?

A small stream tumbled over a bed of limestone; with time on its side, the water had carved a delicate maze deep into the soft rock. The same stone formed the banks, which sloped gently up and then flattened into broad dry slabs ideal for setting up their tent. In this frigid weather, the evergreen bushes that encircled the space provided a touch of color and an excellent windscreen.

Miller had been learning how to set snares, so he headed off with Mei to secure dinner and collect firewood, leaving the other two alone with the tent. Bellamy began pulling parts out of his bag; Clarke stepped over the material accumulating on the ground and grabbed his face in both hands. He tensed under her fingers but looked up from his work, looked at her and hoped he'd find some peace in her eyes. He didn't.

"Lincoln should have told us sooner," she announced. "I'm pissed, too." No peace, then… But sympathy, and permission to unburden himself on her. Bellamy grabbed her hands from his face, kissed them ardently, and unleashed his temper into the darkening forest.

It was treachery, it was dishonest, it was a trap, it would end in betrayal, it would end in death, it would end in war.

He raged until there was nothing left to say. With his pent-up feelings released, Bellamy felt spent but calmer. He grabbed Clarke close, pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in.

"I need to know you'll survive this, Princess," he declared. She rested her arms on his chest lightly, giving him a moment before pushing back as kindly as she could.

"I'm not worried about me," she assured him, lifting her layers of clothing and exposing her abdomen as a reminder. "This is my free pass, remember? But if _you _can't move past this, if _you _do something rash…" she wished there were a kinder way to say it, but the stakes were too high now for subtlety.

Bellamy's face shifted, shuffled from anger through annoyance and regret into fear - and settled on determination. His hands found their place against Clarke's stomach and he opened his mouth, ready to swear on his own life that he would do nothing stupid –

"Holy shit!" The shocked voice cut into the couple's private moment.

Clarke spun and pulled her jacket down, trying - too late, far too late – to hide the pregnancy just a bit longer. Miller stepped forward and his eyes darted back and forth between Clarke and Bellamy.

"So, Clarke is…?... Shit. I thought it was just Mei and Octavia."

Bellamy's mouth pulled into an angry frown.

"Octavia?" he said sharply. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Everyone knows, Bellamy. Octavia's growing a Grounder baby. The whole camp's been talking about it for a week, I – I'm sorry, man," Miller finished, worried now. Bellamy groaned and sank to the ground. He did not need this now, while they were away from home and he could do nothing to quash the rumors. There was too much fear and tension among the teens in camp these days; Octavia's pregnancy could spark the wrong people to react violently.

"Miller, you should walk away," he managed. His lieutenant nodded and backed up, his hand reaching out behind him for Mei. The pair slipped into the woods, and Bellamy tried to steady his thoughts. Clarke busied herself with the preparations for their campsite. Bellamy eventually recovered enough to help, and by the time night really fell, the four of them were gathered around a warm fire, trying to avoid discussion of tomorrow's meeting. Or Clarke's pregnancy. Or Octavia's pregnancy. Or Lincoln's poorly-timed confession-as-warning.

"Okay, this is dumb," Clarke finally announced. She turned to Miller. "We chose not to talk about the pregnancies because first of all, it was too early and something could have gone wrong. Secondly, it's stupid to have a baby right now." Mei and Bellamy both stiffened at her words, but she brushed them off angrily. "What, do you think I'm wrong? We are trying not to freeze to death, or starve to death, or die in a pointless war!" Clarke's voice grew more strident as she continued, an edge of panic slipping in. "Mei and I are eighteen, Octavia's birthday is less than a month away. We're supposed to be dead right now. _Dead._ Floated by our own people, Bellamy! Instead I have this whole amazing new life, with people I care about, and I just desperately want the time and space to appreciate what we've made, and I can't because I'm responsible for everyone, and tomorrow I could mess it all up and condemn us to death - all over again!" She stopped, finally, only because Bellamy was suddenly crushing her against his chest.

"Whoa, there Princess, slow down," Bellamy soothed, his voice a low purr. _What an ass you are, Bellamy Blake._ He'd spent the better part of the day wallowing in his own fears, without realizing the incredible pressure slowly building in Clarke.

"Bellamy, this is _not _going to work!" she gasped, overwhelmed now that she had loosened the death-grip on her self-control.

"You can do this, Clarke. You're the only one I trust to save us," he promised her quietly. The other two had no business in this conversation, and they searched for an excuse to leave the two leaders to their business.

"I think I need more water, Miller, how about you?" Mei suggested quietly. He nodded and they slunk off toward the stream.

"You _can _do this. You were born to be a leader, you were raised to be a leader."

"But this is way beyond anything I should ask of anyone! To ask you to follow me blindly on this, when I have no experience. It's -"

He kissed her soft lips adoringly, offering his heart to her as solace. "I would follow you anywhere, Princess, you know that. I already have. And I always will."

…

Mei knelt at the stream and dipped her canteen into the water; she could feel Miller by her side, watching her carefully.

"It's okay, I promise not to fall in," she joked lightly.

Miller said nothing, and he didn't move. She craned her neck to look up at him. He was watching her so carefully…

"Okay, enough! I know Bellamy is making you keep an eye on me," she hazarded, taking that stab in the dark. "But I'm also a big girl, Miller. I got this."

"I know you do. I've seen what you're capable of. But I don't think you should _have_ to," Miller said, ignoring the first half of her comment for now. She bit her lip and shook her head.

"Please don't do something stupid," she warned him. He blinked and squatted beside her, grabbing a small round pebble from the creek bed and rolling it across the back of his hand absent-mindedly. Mei continued. "You have a job to do, and when it's over you'll have Monroe to go back to. I'd like to just get through this whole thing as simply as possible."

Miller laughed.

"Monroe? No, Mei - I was just an experiment for her, a comfort fuck after Roma's death. She's with Harper now, and really - that's cool with me. Monroe's just a kid, anyway."

Mei's heart lurched into her throat. She focused again on the canteen, on the freezing cold water flowing over her submerged hand, turning her fingers white.

"Mei."

His voice as he called to her was different now, softer, less distant than usual.

"Would it be so terrible to have me around even after the baby comes?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. Crushing fear and explosive hope battled within her for the right to speak first.

"No, it wouldn't be terrible. But the day you weren't there anymore…" She thanked the night for hiding her tears as they escaped, finally.

…

The meeting had been set for noon, but the four arrived a little early at Bellamy's insistence. He needed to get a sense of the area, so he could devise an exit strategy. This was clearly a well-used location, and for good reason: the bald hilltop was impossible to ambush, and an ancient granite table sat at the crest. Clarke noted with unease the rust-colored stains scarring the granite slab, but chose to ignore them and their violent implications. At least some negotiations had ended in bloodshed, obviously.

Miller, who had taken up a watchful position nearby, alerted them to a movement at the southern slope. Clarke swallowed hard, pushing the dread away through sheer will. Bellamy gripped her hand tightly, a reminder that he would not leave her, and together they faced Anya and her approaching posse.

Clarke's practiced artist's eye quickly took in her… she hesitated to use the word "adversary" since it implied friction, so she settled on "counterpart". Anya was tall and thin – gaunt, even – with features that appeared almost too large, too out of proportion with the rest of her. The artist in Clarke took a backseat as the medical intern took over.

"She's ill," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

"You think so?" Bellamy whispered back in surprise. Clarke watched as Anya hesitated for the barest fraction of a moment, took a deep steadying breath, and continued up the hill without acknowledging the concern on her companions' faces. _Oh, yeah._

"She's _very_ ill."

Bellamy's mouth pinched in thought. That was… interesting. An ill leader was a desperate leader. And a desperate leader made hasty decisions. Both good and bad.

"Clarke – listen to me: don't let her know you know, not until you absolutely have to," he urged her quickly in a low voice just as Anya crossed the last few feet to the table.

"You are Clarke? You speak for the Fallen Ones?" she asked without ceremony.

"I am. And you're Anya, right? You speak for the… Forest Dwellers?" Clarke almost said "Grounders" but caught herself in time. Anya nodded, oblivious to the near-slip.

"You are very young," she announced.

"And yet here I stand," Clarke shot back.

"Indeed." The older woman eyed her critically. In truth, less than a decade separated the women, but around here every year mattered.

"So, Clarke, who speaks for the Fallen Ones. You are here to convince me we should declare peace. I would love to hear why you think I should agree to that," Anya began laconically. Bellamy held his breath.

"Because you need us," Clarke began. Bellamy closed his eyes and dropped his head. Why did it have to be Clarke? She did not do well when faced with a direct challenge. It sparked her competitive streak. And now they would all suffer for it.

"We _need _you?" Anya laughed.

"Yes. Your people are dying, Anya. Lincoln told us about your medical problems, and we -"

"Do not bring my brother into this!" Anya hissed suddenly. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed at Clarke. "This is between you and me. He has no place in our conversation."

_Oh, touchy subject_, Bellamy thought. That was the reaction of a protective older sibling, to be sure. He knew it all too well. He wondered if Clarke had caught it, too.

She had. Watching the Blake siblings had taught her a lot in a short time. Her stance widened slightly and she leaned forward, placing her hands on the edge of the table separating them.

"I think he has a very big part in this conversation, actually." She watched Anya flinch and remembered Lincoln's warning. Time to back off a bit, then. "But I will not bring him up again without your permission," she offered in a conciliatory voice. Anya blinked slowly but made no other move.

"The point is, we know you could benefit from our…" _Don't say help, Clarke, that would sound weak to her_, "… our skills. More of the… Fallen Ones… are coming, and they can either bring medical supplies and expertise. Or they can bring weapons. Personally, I'd much rather tell them to leave the weapons behind, wouldn't you?"

Anya stepped back slightly. For someone so young, this girl was oddly aggressive. She herself had been just as brash at that age. She could respect it. But this could not look like she had begged the Fallen Ones for help. She had to go back to her people with a clear heart, knowing the negotiations had not left them appearing the weaker, more vulnerable party.

"And what is it you seek?" Anya asked suspiciously.

"Peace," Clarke sighed, and her shoulders sagged for a moment… and Anya saw the reality behind the bravado. This girl was exhausted. She was inexperienced. And she was most likely scared. Anya smiled at being handed the upper hand so easily. Now it was her turn to put this little upstart in her place.

"You don't come here and threaten to bring fancy weapons to annihilate us, then tell me you want peace," Anya spat. "Be honest. There must be more than that."

Clarke shook her head. She wished she was capable of duplicity, as Anya was implying.

"I just want peace. The chance to carve out an existence for my people."

"Land, then?" Anya's eyes widened. What a bold move!

"What? No! We don't want your land…" Clarke's voice faded. Did they _need _land? Where the hell had the drop-ship crashed, exactly? In whose yard?

"So… You _don't_ want our land? Then give it back," Anya announced, crossing her arms. "Your little fort is sitting in the middle of my forest, Clarke of the Fallen Ones. If you truly want peace, then prove it. Leave my land, immediately!"

Panic threatened to overwhelm Clarke. _Leave? Go where?_ There was nowhere safe. The valley was not an option, and they had already built houses, planned gardens. Wells and Atom and Charlotte and all the others were buried here. Nausea hit Clarke at the idea of leaving this place that had become home to her in ways she was only now beginning to understand, and she clutched at her stomach, turning toward Bellamy.

All the fears of last night – all her concern that this was not the right time to have a baby, that they had too many worries and not enough security – none of it mattered now. She remembered again – remembered vividly, and was overwhelmed by the desperate passion of her need for Bellamy, for their home, their child. It could not be taken from her, not now - when it was all so terrifyingly close to perfect…

He was there instantly, his cold hand pressed soothingly against her neck. She leaned all her weight against him and he looked at Anya in mute fury. On this, Lincoln had been absolutely clear: Bellamy had no right to speak directly to the leader of the Forest Dwellers.

Mei stepped forward instead, stopping for only a brief check on Clarke before turning to the granite table.

"I'm Mei, Clarke's Second," she explained. "My leader needs a moment, please."

"What is wrong with her?" Anya asked, confused by the worry everyone was showing her. The girl was weak; she was a poor choice as leader. They were all so damn soft, these Fallen Ones. And they would die for it. These negotiations had been a waste of her very precious time...

"Clarke's pregnant."

Mei's simple words hit Anya like the crack of a whip, and her eyes widened in shock.

"Your _leader_ is pregnant?"

"We both are," Mei clarified, shifting her clothes to offer Anya proof of the claim. The stance of the Grounders changed, softened, and one thin layer of tension was shaved off the proceedings.

"Lincoln should have told me," Anya finally admitted.

"I'm very sorry, sister," Lincoln's voice carried up to them from the forest edge, and he and Octavia appeared, hand-in-hand. Anya fairly growled at his sudden presence, and Bellamy worried anew for Octavia's safety around this hard woman. They all watched as the pair climbed happily to the table; Octavia jogged to Clarke and Bellamy, hugging them both quickly before returning to Lincoln's side.

"We ran late," Lincoln offered as explanation. Octavia's blush confirmed to everyone the exact nature of their tardiness. Anya shook her head at her little brother's impulsive nature. He had always been allowed too much freedom by their busy mother, and now look what had become of him. Sleeping with the enemy. He was infuriating.

"Lincoln, your presence here is unnecessary. Clarke was about to tell us her people would be leaving our lands, in fact," she smiled haughtily.

"No, I was about to do no such thing!" Clarke piped up. Seeing Lincoln and Octavia strengthened her resolve. These two deserved a chance to be together, too. She wasn't just fighting for her own family's future. This was also about Lincoln and Octavia, and all the others waiting for her to make their lives secure.

She moved back to the table's edge and this time, she leaned forward not out of competitiveness, but in a sincere desire to meet Anya half way.

"Anya, our ship crashed in your woods. It was an accident, one that I _wish_ we could change, but the past is the past. All you and I can do is help our people find a better future. We need to find a way to live together. _Please_ Anya: in exchange for the right to live peacefully on a small part of your land, we will offer all the medical assistance we have. I'm talking about giving your people an advantage over other clans. In fact, if there are other ways we can help your people, we want to know. We truly want to be allies with you."

In the silence that followed Clarke's heartfelt plea, Lincoln slid up beside his sister.

"Anya, Octavia is carrying my child," he reminded her in a low tone. "She might give birth to the only one who can legitimately claim leadership of our people."

"I know that, you fool!" Anya hissed. She hated that he was right. There was nothing pleasant about being reminded of her own barren womb. Clarke piped up again. She was certainly persistent.

"Anya," Clarke whispered, glancing nervously at the three other members of her group, "I _know_." Anya cocked her head at the girl.

"What do you _think_ you know?" Anya asked. Lincoln bent down and whispered to her quickly, and the woman's eyes widened yet again. _A Healer?_ This Clarke girl was ceaselessly surprising.

"I know you're sick," Clarke continued softly. "It's cancer, isn't it? Maybe I could talk to your doctors, help in some way."

"Our Healer is useless," Anya scoffed. "I am dying, that is all. We are, all of us, slowly dying. My time will just be earlier than I would have liked." This whole conversation had been nothing like she expected. Anya did not like Clarke. She knew that without question. But the offer was a good one, and if Anya's legacy for her people was to leave them healthier, stronger, with longer lives and better pregnancies… that was more than she had ever considered.

Bellamy realized he had stopped breathing somewhere in the past minute or two, and exhaled quietly. He turned back to look for Miller, and raised his eyebrows to suggest maybe they wouldn't all die up here on this bare hill after all. Miller nodded back, and turned his attention to Mei, standing at Clarke's side, her Second…

"Clarke, who speaks on behalf of the Fallen Ones, I accept the terms of your truce. For as long as your people are willing to offer medical and technical assistance to the Forest Dwellers, you have permission to live on our land unmolested. My people and your people will work out the details later. For now, you and I will conclude our business here." Anya held one hand out to a short broad man standing at her right, and he produced a sharp knife, which she used to slice open the palm of her own hand. Clarke noticed several scars from previous deals sealed in blood, and the stains on the table between them suddenly took on a much less ominous tone. She was almost giddy with relief as Anya passed the blade to her; she cut quickly, wincing at the moment of pain. It was worth it. When the women clasped their bloody palms together, Clarke thought she felt a little flutter of movement in her womb, as though the baby approved. She smiled at the sensation, at the consideration that maybe life really could get better after all.


	25. Chapter 25

_[A/N: For fun, I've inserted a reference to another great sci-fi show in here; if you spot it, go ahead and let me know in the comments! Also, I was once told you should not actually write "penis" in a story. I took this as a challenge. I think I found a way to make it work.]_

_[A/N2: This baby is wrapping up, gang. Five chapters left after this. Thank you to anyone who has stuck with me through it all, and especially to the endlessly patient _Marina Black1, _the world's best beta and also a helluva talented writer herself. PLEASE check out her work!]_

**_(Part I of III)  
_****_"Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.  
_****_But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:  
_****_To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night..."  
_****_~ Khalil Gibran_**

...

From her position under the radio's table, Raven grunted and swore. She slid back out, holding up yet another blackened part for Monty's inspection.

"So, that inductor is officially fried, then," he noted drily. Raven wiped a stray lock of hair from her face, and frowned up at Monty, oblivious to the streak of black soot she'd just left across her brow.

"It's all fucked, Monty."

"I figured. I guess I was just hoping. I mean, if anyone could fix it, it's you, Ray." He tried hard not to smile at the dirty smudge on her face, instead leaning down to rub it off with a gentle hand. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the contact. It was a nice reminder of her humanity, after spending most of the day battling the radio's torched internal systems. It was almost impressive, how thorough a job the little shits responsible for this had been.**  
**

"Monty, you and I have built a lot of crazy stuff out of old toys, a prayer, and some good luck. But too many parts are toast. This is beyond repair." Monty sighed. He hated admitting defeat, and he knew it was even harder for Raven – but it had become increasingly clear as the day wore on that this was no easy fix. They needed parts they just didn't have.

When Bellamy got back, he would be furious with them. Never mind the actual arsonists: the responsibility for the entire camp's security was on Raven and Monty, and they had failed. Miserably. Killing the radio was an especially painful attack, since making it work had been such a labor of love.

"So what now? A total rebuild?" That could take weeks. Raven nodded at the suggestion, accepting Monty's outstretched hand to help her stand.

"We don't have a choice. We might as well start the clock ticking, too; the first Exodus ship is scheduled to launch in exactly three weeks."

Harper poked her head into the drop-ship with an excited smile.

"Oh! You guys _are_ decent, that's _so _good! Because they're back!" she squealed, then took off again. Raven lurched forward, eager to tear off that little tramp's smarmy mouth. Monty grabbed Raven's elbow without even bothering to look her way; by now, he knew her reaction to all the snide jabs at their relationship, and how to calm her down. He spun her back to him lightly, planting a soothing kiss on her forehead and another on her lips. She relaxed into him, grateful for his calm presence.

"I hate that bitch," she admitted.

"Yes, I know. But we have bigger problems. Bellamy and Clarke are back." Monty and Raven looked at each other, faces suddenly grave. This was going to be an awkward reunion. They headed out to greet the returning leaders, and Jasper rushed up to them from near the main campfire.

"Any luck?" he asked anxiously; their faces told him the answer. "Oh. Well… Hey look - it's not so bad. At least this time you'll be banished together for sure. And I promise I'll write to you, every day." Raven snorted despite herself.

"That's helpful, thanks man," Monty patted him on the shoulder, grateful Jasper's attempt at humor had at least lightened Raven's mood temporarily. Together, the trio waited to share their bad news.

…

Clarke glowed. There was no better word for the warm contentment hanging around her eyes and mouth, the slight forward lean in her stance, the bright hope that buoyed her steps. Bellamy matched her unconsciously, and as the woods grew more and more familiar, their pace quickened. They were eager to be home, to celebrate this success with their friends.

Clarke was also thinking ahead, excited and proud to share their news with the Ark. They had only mentioned the negotiations briefly once before, not wanting to get anyone's hopes up. Now they could announce that they had averted war – and Abby Griffin would be sent on the first Exodus ship with a full medical crew, instead of the military team the Chancellor was currently assembling. All the pieces were finally lining up for them.

The gate was already open when they crested the final hill. Raven, tired of trying to keep the youngest teens out of trouble, had tasked Monty and Jasper with finding something to occupy the most junior residents of the camp. They had taken on the duty with the same gleeful attitude they tackled most tasks. The result was an elaborate system of inter-connected platforms high in the trees ringing the Wall, manned by eager young lookouts who got a kick out of the duty. Raven was pleased; they were no longer underfoot, and their boundless energy and sense of adventure suited the job perfectly. Jayne and Reynolds had even devised a series of whistles with which the teens could communicate, and the others were catching on quickly. Jasper had banned practicing inside the Wall, though, because everyone else found the constant shrill noises too irritating.

Now a terrible cacophony overhead - which sounded to Clarke like a flock of drunk sparrows - followed the travelers through the gate, and a crush of anxious bodies moved forward, desperate to learn the outcome of the talks with the Grounders. Clarke and Bellamy shared the results of their meeting as the sun set behind them; it was as if the entire camp had held its breath until this moment, and released a great communal sigh of relief at the news. The party began almost instantly; Jasper ran straight for the still to share Monty's latest brew with the celebrating masses. He offered Bellamy a large cup of moonshine, winking at Monty and Raven conspiratorially as he did so. Maybe they could lubricate their leader, soften him up so he'd be more lenient. Bellamy winced at the smell, and shook his head. Jasper's face fell, but Miller stepped up, grabbed the offering with a happy grin, and disappeared into the crowd.

"So, how was everything here?" Bellamy asked in an absent-minded tone. He was still watching Miller snake through the press of bodies, searching for some- … Ah. Of course. His lieutenant had gotten used to Mei's gentle presence, and seemed to get very antsy whenever she was out of sight for too long. It appeared Clarke was a bit of an accidental match-maker.

"Well…" Raven began. Her faced curled into a grimace, and suddenly Bellamy and Clarke were watching her with laser focus. "Fuck it; you better come with us."

…

Miller found Mei within the crowd nearest the Wall. People were pressing relentlessly forward, eager to be near Bellamy and Clarke, but mostly near Jasper and the vat of foul liquid he controlled. Mei looked upset and scared by the mob; Miller saw her grab at her belly protectively, and his vision blackened at the edges as he pushed toward her. His own full cup was tossed aside, forgotten in his need to get to her. One eager teenager, unaware of the imminent pain he was about to bring down upon himself, made the poor choice of shoving Mei aside, calling out "move, bitch," as he did so. Miller's fist connected squarely with his face, and his elbow hit the boy's sternum as he went down, collapsing in a puddle at Mei's feet. She gasped in surprise, then looked up at her rescuer with wide dark eyes.

"That guy is a… is a… a _penis_!" she managed, and Miller grinned, relieved to know she was okay.**  
**

"You can call him a dick, Mei. That's Pietr, and trust me, he is one." One strong arm gathered her close, and he searched for an exit through the crowd. "Let's get you out of here." Mei didn't trust herself to speak – she nodded, and for a moment allowed herself to pretend Miller was holding her like this for a completely different reason.

…

Bellamy stared down at the drop-ship floor, littered with an array of charred pieces that had once been their radio.

"No hope, then," he growled. Monty shook his head and crossed his arms.

"None. We have to do a complete rebuild. I'll need Jasper helping too, and even with all of us working round-the-clock…" Bellamy stepped back and searched for Clarke, searched for his anchor. She looked as frustrated as he; this was not how she had expected the evening to end.

"Raven? How long?" The tension in Clarke's voice hurt Raven's heart. She knew what the radio meant to them.

"I just don't know. If we can get it done in three weeks, it'll be a miracle. But you know me; I'm a miracle worker, right?" She smiled her most charming, confident smile and hoped Clarke bought the bull.

"I know you are," Clarke smiled back. They were all relying on Raven and Monty to do the impossible. Again.

"You know who did this, don't you?" Bellamy finally asked. His voice was still in that low register, coming from deep in his gut - where he stored his rage. Raven's eyes flashed dangerously, but she held herself in check, knowing it would be better coming from Monty. Sometimes her mouth got ahead of her brain.

"Alex. And Kyle. They don't really like… us," Monty offered calmly, grasping Raven's hand as he spoke. He avoided sharing the terms that had been used. Nobody wanted words like "murderer" and "whore" brought up unless they were absolutely necessary. "The boys were overheard planning to kill the radio as a practical joke." He kicked lightly at some wiring. "I would say they got the practical part spot on."

Without warning, Bellamy stormed through the curtain at the drop-ship's entrance, bellowing as he went.

"KYLE! ALEX!"

"Oh, _shit_," Jasper breathed into the silence left behind. "Who else is glad not to be those guys, huh?"

…

It was too late at night when everyone finally dissipated, leaving Bellamy and Clarke standing alone in the empty front room of their house. The conversation had been tense, threat-filled, tearful. Nothing concrete had been decided for now because the boys appeared truly remorseful, but that only left Bellamy's sense of justice unfulfilled. His skin crawled with that unsettled feeling, the feeling that the world had not been set right yet.

They had been back less than four hours, and already Bellamy needed to get away from the noise and the pain and the infuriating stupidity of these… these _children_. He banged around the room angrily. How could they possibly keep everyone alive, when there were people like Kyle and Alex just waiting for a chance to screw everything up? He might as well tear down the Wall tomorrow, and set everyone loose in the forest to survive on their own. He and Clarke and the baby would probably stand a better chance if they weren't surrounded by this batch of foolish teenagers, anyway.

Clarke watched him silently, waiting for him to cool down, but he couldn't. She tried calling to him, but he was oblivious to any voice but his own, pacing the length of the room with great heavy strides. Finally, frustrated, Clarke stepped right into his path. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice her until he had actually bumped up against the softness of her.

"Bellamy," she whispered. Her voice betrayed her, low and raspy with sudden, unexpected need. His body, so familiar to her even through their clothes, brushed against her breasts, her hips, her growing belly in ways that lit her on fire.

Bellamy looked down at her and his own hunger, never more than an inch beneath the surface, came roaring up and burst over the pair in a torrent that caught them both by surprise. He ripped hastily at her clothes, needing Clarke's willing body, desperate for her to soothe the violence within him.

Bared before him now, Clarke wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed into him. He lifted her easily, and she twined her legs around his waist as his mouth sought out the skin at her shoulders and throat, racing for her lips. He needed those lips. They were waiting for him, happily accepting the raw passion of his kisses, parting easily for him.

Bellamy sighed and shifted his hands lower, securing Clarke's naked form against his as he moved toward their bedroom. By the time they made it to the large bed, Clarke had managed to slip him out of his shirt. Her hands dragged roughly over his strong chest, then through the beautiful dark curls of his hair, and Bellamy's groan was full of a blaze that could not be tamed except by her. He dropped her lightly onto the bed, his mouth refusing to part with her skin as he finished stripping; hot lips sought out her hard sensitive nipples and his tongue flicked roughly over each one, sending a quake through Clarke that Bellamy's hands, hugging her curves now, responded to eagerly. She drove him mad. His mouth moved down her stomach, paused at her belly button for a tender kiss, and then settled over the swell between her hips. She shivered with need for him, and as he filled her Bellamy wondered, as he always did, how he deserved this happiness. Clarke was stubborn and strong and smart and beautiful and brave; and she was carrying his child. It seemed too much, really, to expect that she could also love him.

And yet she did. As her body moved with his, she called to him softly, forcing his attention onto her, and he knew from the tender look on her face, from the dazzling joy in her eyes, that somehow – some inexplicable way – he was what she needed, just as he needed her. That look in her eyes was enough to push him over the edge; he stopped himself, holding on tightly to his control, wanting to make sure she was with him. Clarke's body reacted to his with searing desire, and finally he could hold back no longer; he exploded within her, and a moment later, he felt her body tighten as she was ripped open by one long, hot, perfect surge of ecstasy.**  
**


	26. Chapter 26

_[A/N: THANK YOU TO ANYONE STILL TAGGING ALONG! Please drop a quick comment to let me know you're out there - I always worry that I'm losing readers as these stories enter the home stretch.]_

_[A/N2: As we near Chapter 30, I hope you all take a moment to check out the many brilliant works of my beautiful, talented, amazing beta, _Marina Black1_. She is totally kick-ass.] _

_[A/N3: Some of you have said you're sad this piece is ending. Aw, THANKS! But to clarify: I need (I tried to tell the Muses to shut up, but they insist) - NEED - to write a new Bellarke piece that picks up at the Season 1 finale. I know, two Bellarkes in a row? But these Muses, man, they are out of control. So that will be my summer project. Hope to see you all there!]_

_..._

**_(Part II of III)  
_****_"…_****_To know the pain of too much tenderness.  
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;  
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.  
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;…"  
~ Khalil Gibran_**

The team of Groun… - Forest Dwellers - arrived a week later, just as February's harsh weather was losing steam. The woman who had been Anya's Second for the negotiations now led a small crew of men into camp and headed straight for Clarke. As she neared, it became obvious how young this girl really was. Anya was such an overwhelming figure, that those with her on the hill that day had faded in comparison. Freed from their leader's charismatic shadow, it was possible to get a better sense of just who the Forest Dwellers were.

She was petite, the girl who introduced herself haughtily as Rose, with black curly hair that seemed determined to escape the long thick braid snaking down her back. Clarke decided she could not be older than fifteen. Even so, she carried herself with confidence, swaying past the male members of camp with a pert smile and an awareness of her own body that Clarke found disturbing.

"Rose, why don't we talk inside? I can show you our medical facilities," Clarke offered, glaring a warning at several hungry-looking men nearby. After four months on Earth, the fact that there were more men than women in camp had become a sore subject – and the cause of more than one fight. They clearly viewed this voluptuous newcomer as a welcome addition to the population.

Rose shrugged noncommittally, and snapped her fingers at her four eerily-masked and heavily-armored warriors. Their silent compliance impressed Clarke. Once inside, the men spread out, inspecting the space with care before settling into a watchful stance, ready if Rose should need them.

"I think all that armor is unnecessary, don't you?" Bellamy asked as he followed them in; his voice was cordial, but his eyes were not. Rose flashed the handsome Fallen One an easy, almost proprietary smile that froze Clarke's breath, and nodded at her men.

Unmasked, Clarke realized this group of warriors was as ragtag as their attire. The long black hair of the oldest was shot through with silver. Something in his high nose, green eyes, and thick eyebrows reminded Clarke of Rose, and she wondered if the two were related. One tall man looked like he could be Lincoln's twin brother, down to his chocolate skin and broad shoulders. The last two… Clarke could not be sure they were even as old as Rose. It appeared people around here grew up faster than she had realized. Anya had made such a big deal of Clarke's age at their meeting – was it just to throw her off, then? If she was willing to grant control of the talks to this little girl…

"My name is Rufus," the older man began with a grumble, stepping forward and bowing first to Clarke, then Bellamy. "Anya assures me you will not be offended if I help with these discussions. She said your people are more used to… sharing power." At his intrusion, Rose's face twisted into a spoiled pout. She tossed a wink at Bellamy and stalked over to stand way – _wow,_ thought Clarke, _way__ too close_ - to the Lincoln clone. Rufus frowned at her; with a petulant glare and a rebellious sneer she backed up, pressing herself seductively against the stoic warrior. Clarke's skin crawled.

Rufus turned back to Bellamy with an apologetic grin.

"Our daughters are such precious gifts, you know," he tried.

"I do," Bellamy answered carefully. He wrapped one possessive arm around Clarke, studiously avoiding Rose's sultry gaze. This conversation felt like it could go south too quickly; better to change the subject. "But I'm sure Anya and Clarke would prefer it if we all got down to the business of this peace deal."

Clarke pulled out her weathered map of the area, and the three of them settled around one of the exam tables. Rufus glanced at the green and blue markings and chuckled; the sound was a friendly rumble.

"I'm sorry, Healer, but this map must be at least a hundred years old. This river is not like this at all anymore," he began, pointing to a thick blue line as he spoke.

"We noticed that," Bellamy answered. "Just _how_ bad is it?" This was the closest thing they had to an accurate representation of their home, and they had been surviving off its information for months. Rufus bent closer; his eyes weren't what they used to be. After a minute, he straightened and shrugged.

"It will do for our purposes. The mountains have not changed, and the waters can be redrawn." Bellamy relaxed minutely and leaned over the exam table. Clarke grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze before turning away; there was no need for both of them to be here. Bellamy held onto her a bit longer, though; pretending not to notice Rose watching their every move, he pulled Clarke close and kissed her. As he released her mouth, his hand dropped to the swelling belly under her coat, and he caressed her lovingly, his eyes shining at her in a way that carried Clarke off for one perfect moment.

The Lincoln look-alike managed to extricate himself from Rose, and wandered up to Clarke's side.

"You said you would show us the medical care you can offer our people," he reminded her. Clarke roused herself and nodded, moving toward the ladder. She climbed to the third floor of the ship, and stepped aside so the warrior could follow. Rose had tagged along, as well, which suited Clarke just fine; no need to leave her downstairs with Bellamy.

"Tyler _thinks _he wants to be a Healer," Rose scoffed as she looked around the storage room. Tyler's mouth tightened but he said nothing. Clarke wondered how Rose had this much power over him. She opened her mouth to comment, but caught herself. No sense offending their new allies just yet.

"The south wall is reserved for medical supplies," Clarke tried instead. Tyler and Rose watched carefully as Clarke showed off the scant materials she had. She told them about the coming Exodus ship, which could carry even more equipment - and the expertise of Abby and Jackson. She fervently hoped Raven and Monty would fix the radio in time, and turn her claims into reality. Finally, she asked what training and supplies their own Healers had available.

"Healer. Just one," Rose corrected, turning back to Tyler and running one indolent hand over his broad, strong chest. "We had another but she died last winter. And we have nothing like these supplies. The seaweed that you use, we use it too. It is very helpful, but it cannot perform miracles."

"No, it can't. It has antibiotic properties, so it can help prevent and even fight infection, but that's all," Clarke explained automatically. Rose rolled her eyes, bored at the information - but Tyler cocked his head in concentration. "You really want to learn, don't you?" she asked him quietly.

"I do," he answered. His voice was gentler than Clarke had expected. Rose just laughed at him, and Clarke decided she absolutely hated this girl.

When they returned to the med bay, Bellamy was having a quiet conversation with Miller while the young warriors gathered around Rufus and the map.

"Everything okay?" Clarke asked, wondering what had been important enough that Miller felt he could interrupt.

"Everything's fine, Princess," Bellamy answered, winking at his subordinate and sending him out the door. "We were just taking a break." He gravitated to Clarke's side and bent to her cheek; to those watching, it looked like a simple moment of intimacy.

"Watch yourself around Rose. I'll explain later," he whispered as he ran his fingers tenderly through her long blond hair.

…

That night, curled around Clarke, his hands spread over the womb that nurtured their ever-growing child, Bellamy filled in the missing pieces for her. Rose was Rufus' daughter; Clarke had guessed correctly. Her mother had died in childbirth, and Rufus had been tasked with raising a daughter alone. He had sometimes mistaken love for indulgence, and admitted that much of her behavior was his own fault; he had raised her to know just how valuable she was, both to him and to their people. Now that she was of child-bearing age, Rose was preoccupied with selecting a partner for herself. She had the clear advantage; there were almost five men to every woman among the Forest Dwellers.

As for Rufus, he was more than just an aging warrior. He was Anya's man, and had been for several years. Clarke laughed at the absurdity of the idea, since Rufus was certainly more than a decade older than the leader.

"Princess, do you really think love works that way?" Bellamy whispered into her neck, and she blushed at the correction. If she was honest, she had a hard time picturing love as a big part of these people's lives.

Bellamy continued. As the previous leader's daughter, and next in line for the title, Anya had always had her pick of the most virile young men - until the Healers finally determined she couldn't have children. It changed things. Gone was the pressure to choose the strongest or the bravest warrior. She gravitated toward Rufus because he complemented her leadership style. While officially Rufus had no power, the couple had a much more intimate and balanced relationship than they could ever let others know.

"So wait - then how did you get all this out of him?" Clarke asked, twisting her head back to search for Bellamy's face. He lifted his head and kissed her, softly, a kiss that demanded nothing and promised everything.

"He said I was a kindred spirit," Bellamy grinned. "'Loving strong women is not a job for weak men' is how he put it." Bellamy pressed himself against Clarke as he spoke, and she laughed, turning over to face him.

"And Rose?" she finally asked. There _had_ to be more to that one's story. Bellamy sighed and rolled onto his back, dragging Clarke's torso over his.

"She's going to be trouble. She's convinced she'll be next in line when Anya dies."

"Well, she _is_ kind of Anya's step-daughter," Clarke pointed out.

"Mm. But Rufus admits Anya hates her. And don't forget, Lincoln shares the same mother as Anya. So if his child is a girl…"

"Oh!" Clarke sat up, fear suddenly flooding her chest. "Octavia!"

"Shh, Princess, we know. That's why they're away for a few days; Rufus already warned Lincoln. Even _he_ doesn't trust her. Before we landed – before Octavia – Rose had her eye on Lincoln. If she had a daughter with him, it would seal her claim." Clarke sank back against Bellamy, grabbing at the bridge of her nose to try and stem the headache this girl was giving her.

"_Shit,_" Clarke murmured. She watched him carefully. "You're being very calm about this."

"No, I'm not. I wasn't, anyway. But… I trust Lincoln. Let's just call it growth, okay?"

"I can't wait until Rose leaves," Clarke admitted. Tomorrow afternoon could not come soon enough.

"She _also_ told all her warriors that she would be leaving here with a Fallen One as her man. I guess the local boys just aren't good enough anymore," Bellamy sighed. Clarke just laughed at that. _Of __course__ she did._ So all that posturing around Tyler had been nothing but a game, a way of asserting her power. _What a miserable little girl._

They settled into silence, and Bellamy had nearly drifted off when Clarke began again.

"Why was Miller at the drop-ship today?" she asked. Bellamy groaned at the fresh intrusion.

"He wants to be assigned a new job," he mumbled.

That answer bothered Clarke. Raven could not be expected to fill in the missing time with Mei. She and Monty needed to work on the radio – they were basically living in the med bay at this point, so they could have fewer interruptions. Today's meeting had already cost them most of a day.

"Bellamy, I don't like that," she started, but Bellamy grabbed her and pulled her tight against his chest, crushing his mouth to hers to shut her up.

"Just… trust me, Princess. Mei will be fine," he whispered against her lips. His fingers found their way to her spine, and he traced a light, soothing path down her back, lulling them both to sleep.

…

The first rays of morning light had barely trickled through the forest's thick canopy when Miller swung up the ladder of the drop-ship and searched out Mei. She was just waking, her almond-shaped eyes still heavy with sleep, her midnight-black hair a mess - it made his heart skip a beat, the way she smiled at him in greeting. He quickly handed her a packet of nuts and dried berries, and a canteen of water. She accepted them with a larger, more grateful smile; this baby of hers certainly had an appetite. Miller seemed impatient today, and Mei peered at him in concern.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just… Can you hurry? We need to get going," Miller offered cryptically. She shrugged and finished off the food, then managed a quick swallow of water before Miller grabbed her hand and nearly dragged her down the ladder, tugging gently against her when she moved toward Bellamy and Clarke's cabin. They had been asked to join the guests there this morning.

"Not yet," he said, heading outside with her in tow. Mei frowned. Ever since their trip with Bellamy and Clarke, Miller seemed less concerned with maintaining the space between them. He had gotten into the habit of holding her hand when they crossed icy patches, and whenever they were standing in a group, his shoulder pressed against hers lightly, a reminder of his continuous presence in her life. She wished she enjoyed it less.

They made their way toward the gate; Miller glanced up at the kids in the trees. These days, they were spending more time playing pirate and less time guarding the Wall. He would tell Bellamy about their lax attitude… later. For now, he moved quickly but carefully away from camp, barely glancing around, seemingly following a path etched deep in his memory.

Eventually he stopped, and dropped her hand. Mei looked around in surprise at their destination. It was boring, really – just like every other inch of their world, this little open patch was surrounded by giant pines that seemed to hold up the sky. The forest floor under their feet was a thick blanket of red pine needles, which lent the space a hushed feeling. Whatever Miller wanted to show her, it seemed very location-specific. They had walked nearly twenty minutes to get here.

"Mei," he began, nervously. He stuck his hands into his pockets, and looked at the trees surrounding them.

"I like this spot," he tried instead. "I come here to think." Mei smiled. Miller was still such an enigma. Why would he need to come all the way out here… to think?

"You don't know what I did. I need to tell you, okay? Because you should know that first. Before anything else." She waited, still silent, wondering what his confession would be. There were so many possibilities… had he assaulted someone? Smuggled something for one of the black market thugs on the Ark? She prayed fervently he hadn't murdered anyone, like that guy Dax had.

"I'm not smart like you and the others, Mei. Reading is hard for me. The letters don't fit together like they should, okay? And I'm really terrible at sitting still, especially at a desk. I get…bored." Mei nodded; she'd noticed his tendency to stay on the move. "So I got this reputation as a trouble-maker in class… I guess I was, too. But all I ever wanted was to be a guard. Because that would have made life better for me and my family. I knew I'd never pass the entrance exam though, not with the dyslexia. So my friend and I stole the test."

Mei gasped.

"They couldn't possibly have arrested you for stealing a test!" she whispered.

"No, not _just_ for stealing the test," Miller admitted. "I think it had more to do with the guard who walked in while we were downloading the answers… I panicked, Mei. I just… I didn't want to get caught, so… I punched the guard." Mei put her hands up to hide her mouth, which had formed a small "o" of astonishment. Assaulting an officer was a very big deal.

"It was fucking dumb, and I've had a _lot _of time – two damn years – to think about what I could have done differently. But now that we're down here... I can let go of all that. Because down here it's all different, isn't it?" He stopped abruptly, and silence crept back into the space between them.

"Well. Thank you for telling me," Mei finally responded. She wasn't sure what else to say.

"I had to. I, uh… I asked to be re-assigned yesterday," Miller continued. Mei's face fell, but she bit her lips together and nodded mutely, not wanting to trust her voice just yet.

"I hope that's okay," Miller added, confused by her response. Mei swallowed hard and flashed a quick smile.

"It's fine. I told you, I got this. I'm sure you're ready to do something more exciting than standing around watching me get fat."

"Fat? Mei… What? You're not fat, you're beautiful!"

Mei laughed off the term, and just shook her head. This was probably better, anyway. Sooner, so she could be over him by the time the baby actually came. It would have been so much worse to do this as a new mother. Even so, she felt her heart cracking. Not quite breaking… not yet… she would wait until she was alone to let that happen.

"Hey," Miller called to her softly. He grabbed her chin – something he'd never done before – and forced her to look at him. His eyes were dark pools of worry. "Are you… I thought you'd be happier." She swallowed and nodded.

"I'm very happy for you. I just… I guess I got used to having you around," Mei whispered, and she frowned against the painful, knotted-up feeling in her gut.

He kissed her. He kissed her impulsively, without giving her any clue, any warning - and she flinched at the shock of feeling him in this new way. He pulled back to look at her, suddenly unsure of himself. Mei's eyes searched his face, surprised and lost.

"What…?" she managed. Miller sighed. She was usually so much smarter than him.

"I don't want to be with you because it's an assignment," Miller stated plainly. "I just want to _be_ with you. You're strong, Mei, and brave, and you deserve better than you've gotten." He bent down to her again, this time pausing, seeking her permission. White-hot hope blossomed in her chest, and Mei stretched up on her toes, eagerly lifting her mouth to his.

It was as though a door had been unlocked and now burst open. Weeks of watching her, of noticing how her slender body moved and responded to her world, had built and nurtured a slow steady fire in Miller, but feeling Mei's small hot mouth reacting to his fanned that fire into a raging inferno. He pulled at the hem of her shirt, lifting it clear of her tan stomach and the cute roundness that he had also watched for weeks, the bump that had bound them to each other. He thought nothing of the chill in the air as he pulled her shirt higher, needing to discover the rest of her, this body he had imagined far too many times; she shivered under his hands, though, and he stepped back, swearing at himself in anger.

"Shit - are you even ready for this?" Miller knew about Mei's past – what Clarke had shared, anyway, which was just enough to let him fill in the blanks. What if he brought up a difficult memory or something?

Mei, who had been watching Miller almost as closely for almost as long, gave a sigh – and then shivered again, wrapping her arms around her bare torso. He would never understand how the hormones had driven her wild all these months, aching for someone… aching for Miller… to satisfy the fire inside her.

"I have been waiting for this – no, waiting for _you_ - for _ages_."

It was all the permission he needed. He lunged forward again, continuing where he had paused, until the naked pair fell against the huge ancient roots of the nearest tree. Miller pulled back for a moment to admire Mei's shapely body, and he swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, surprised by his own reaction. He'd slept with others before her; why did this one make him feel so off-center?

Mei shifted slightly, and the movement brought Miller back to this moment, reminded him of the throbbing need that filled him, and he pulled her hips toward his own, entering her finally, barely able to think now that she had given herself to him. He had wanted this for too long; she felt better than he had ever thought possible. She ran her tongue across her lips and groaned gently, and Miller's senses were overwhelmed. He struggled not to give in to the power of her too soon, but she was so enticing, so warm and ready and giving, that he couldn't hold back. He didn't let it slow him down, though, pausing only briefly to caress Mei's small firm breasts, then pulling her up and kissing the base of her neck as he moved slowly inside her, feeling her tighten and quiver as her own passion built to a crescendo. When she finally shattered around him, calling out to him huskily as she did, Miller joined her again, and the pair melted into each other, freed of the burdens they'd each carried silently for far too long.

…

Bellamy was gone when Clarke woke. She was embarrassed to realize she had slept in; she dressed hurriedly, then pushed out into the front room without thinking.

They were mostly still seated around the table, having just finished sharing a simple breakfast. Clarke suppressed a shudder, watching Rose flirt with anything that moved. Instead, she sought out Bellamy's dark hair and brilliant smile. He and Rufus were bent over a rocking chair that had magically appeared while they were at the drop-ship yesterday. The older man laughed approvingly at something Bellamy said, and clapped him heartily on the back. The simple interaction broke Clarke's heart; she wondered if Bellamy had ever missed having that kind of moment with his own father.

"Everyone knows a daughter brings good luck, but I think my father secretly always wanted a son," Rose murmured from just behind Clarke, startling her. She refused to turn around until she had composed her face, knowing it would betray the depth of her feelings for Bellamy. Rose was a dangerous foe, and Clarke could not give her any ammunition, especially where _he_ was concerned.

"We brought you a gift," Rose tried again. "It is intended to show we mean you no harm, and are willing to share what we can." She was a terrible diplomat; her own inflated sense of self-worth leaked into every word she spoke, making even a conciliatory sentence sound condescending.

"Thank you. We have some gifts for you, as well," Clarke replied. In truth, Lincoln had been clear that they need only send the party back to Anya with a minor symbolic present, but Clarke had been inspired late last night… So Rose wanted to take home one of Clarke and Bellamy's people? Well, Clarke had a very different plan.

Bellamy realized she had joined them, and insisted she eat something. He hovered like a worried mother hen, desperate to avoid Rose. Any other day of her pregnancy, Clarke would have slapped him for even _trying_ this doting father routine; this time she played along. There was a certain satisfaction in rubbing that horrible little girl's face in their shared bliss.

By the time Clarke finished, the room had filled with their friends. These were hand-picked by Lincoln and Bellamy days ago, to reflect the strength and long-term viability of the community. Every established couple they knew, and anyone else who had already passed the age of majority, filled the space. Bellamy frowned as he realized Mei was missing; as Clarke's official Second, she had to be here. Maybe releasing Miller had been a mistake after all.

Clarke and Rose each offered a few awkward sentences about alliances and the importance of trust; just before they turned to the matter of exchanging gifts, Mei and Miller slipped in and joined the back of the crowd. Bellamy noticed. He eyed Miller dangerously; the younger man sighed heavily and whispered to Mei. They crept forward until they were at the front of the crowd, where Rose and her people could not miss them.

Rose presented Clarke with three hens, each sitting on large clutches of eggs. The gathered audience murmured appreciatively at this gift, which promised them a sustainable protein source. Clarke presented her counterpart with a dozen first aid kits, which Clarke had originally designed to be carried by hunters out in the forest. Rose accepted them as graciously as she knew how, and was about to turn back to the rest of her contingent when Clarke interrupted.

"One more gift, Rose." Behind her, Bellamy shifted suddenly. He hated when she threw surprises his way; he was usually the one left to clean up after her. _Not this time_, Clarke thought. This time, she knew exactly what she was doing. "I would be honored to accept Tyler as my apprentice, since he is interested in training as a Healer." Rose opened her mouth to protest, but Clarke caught Rufus' eye and saw the approval there. That was enough confirmation for Clarke; she smiled triumphantly. Both Rose and Anya would have to accept this final gift, she knew - Rufus would make sure of that.


	27. Chapter 27

_[A/N: Mad props to my beta, Marina Black1, for keeping me moving through the end of this piece!]_

_[A/N2: True story - what else keeps me motivated? REVIEWS! I love 'em, I gobble them up and they make me want to write MORE! :) So if you have a chance, please let me know you're still out there...]_

_[A/N3: Also... ummm... You might hate me a bit at the end because there's a little, bitty, baby cliffhanger. But it sets up the last three chapters, so it's necessary. Sorry!]_

**_(Part III of III)  
_****_"…_****_To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;  
_****_To return home at eventide with gratitude;  
_****_And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."  
_****~ Khalil Gibran**

…

Clarke woke with a start. She reached across the bed instinctively but Bellamy was already gone.

_The Ides of March_.

That's what he had said last week, staring up at the new green emerging in the trees, his hand tracing light circles over her bare skin. She was almost asleep, warmed and comforted by the sun that bathed the little meadow, and Bellamy's deep timbre as he murmured the words roused her. He had told her the story of Julius Caesar, and the warning, and his eyes as he did so were cloudy with foreboding. She had tried, had reminded him that Raven and Monty were almost finished, that the radio could be ready in time, but it had not sufficed.

And now here they were. _The Ides of March._ The radio was not quite ready, after all. The Exodus ship would launch, and there would be no medical supplies, no Abby Griffin. There would be soldiers and guns and a promise to Anya, irrevocably broken. It turned out Bellamy's sense of foreboding had been justified. Clarke swung her legs over the edge of their bed. _Enough of this,_ she chided herself. She had no time to lie around - they had to prepare everyone. There was one last hope: if they could meet the Exodus ship at its landing site, if they could intervene and explain the developments… maybe no lives would be lost today.

She padded out to the front room, searching for Bellamy. He was out, but had left her breakfast at the table, and she smiled at the thoughtfulness. Her appetite got the better of her and she reached for the food without bothering to sit. Just as she straightened, she felt a little movement in her womb - stronger than ever before - and laughed in surprise.

"Good morning, baby! Are you hungry too?" she whispered, feeling a little foolish to be talking to her own round belly. "I'm working on it!" She grabbed what she could and headed out the door, now even more eager to find Bellamy.

He was near the entrance to the drop-ship, talking to Tyler. She rushed to him and dragged him inside, Tyler hot on their heels. That was fine; the giant warrior-turned-apprentice was such a calm, gentle presence that she didn't mind the intrusion. She grabbed Bellamy's hands and pressed them over her belly, watching his face eagerly for a reaction. At first there was nothing, and he looked at her, confused - until Jasper dropped a large metal casing and the sound echoed through the first floor of the drop-ship. The clamor startled the baby, and Clarke wondered if she could drown in the happiness of Bellamy's bright, boyish grin as he felt the tiny flutter under his palms. She wanted to make him smile at her that way every day.

Bellamy bent forward and whispered a greeting to the little person growing inside Clarke before straightening and searching out her lips. He could never repay her for everything she had given him… continued to give him. This perfect moment, the three of them: he filed it into the warm bright part of his soul, the "Clarke" part of his soul, the part that waged constant battle with the remnants of darkness he still carried inside.

Monty and Raven appeared at the drop-ship door; the couple mumbled a sleepy greeting in the general direction of the med bay and shuffled back to Jasper at the radio table. Other than stepping outside for meals, they had barely left their work in weeks: once they took a team out to ravage Raven's old pod for whatever scrap material they could, and on another occasion they hiked to the bomb-shelter Finn had discovered – it seemed like a year ago now – to plunder the items stored there. In a moment of desperation, Raven had even asked Jasper to pull apart Clarke's ultrasound equipment. The hardest part had been watching Clarke's face as she nodded, knowing it was the right thing to do but hating the decision. Raven swallowed hard at the memory of three sets of soon-to-parents, each taking one final, desperate look before Clarke turned the monitor off for the last time and handed the cart over to Jasper. Raven felt like an asshole, especially because of Mei; it was the first and last glimpse of the baby she could offer Miller. He had been so sweet - and so shocked - when the ultrasound caught the baby sucking gently on his (or her; Clarke still wasn't sure) thumb. It had changed things for the young man, seeing that tiny profile captured on-screen. Raven's previous impression of him, as Bellamy's brainless muscle, softened a bit after that.

As the morning wore on, Bellamy and Clarke became less subtle about checking in on the radio's progress. The Exodus ship would launch at sunset; the last communications between Monty and Sinclair had identified the target landing site at the edge of the forest, a solid hike from the camp's newly expanded Wall. Anya would send Rose and Rufus and some of their people, so the newest Fallen Ones could be properly welcomed. It had been nerve-wracking, finding the right way to clarify that the loss of their radio had complicated things. Rufus had chosen not to share the news with Rose and Anya; he still held out hope that the radio would be fixed in time, and did not see the benefit in irritating Anya if it was unnecessary. Clarke followed his lead, although she was not sure it was the best course of action.

Bellamy had misgivings of his own about this evening. Clarke had asked Abby to lobby on his behalf with the Chancellor, but the results of that conversation remained as much a mystery as everything else on the Ark for the past three weeks.

If they could just get the radio to work before the launch… but noon came and went, and Monty was developing a permanently haunted look from the constant looming presence of his leaders. Finally Raven had enough.

"Get the hell out! _All_ of you! … Except you, Mei, you're cool. – And Tyler, sorry. You're good, too. Miller, if you promise to just… I guess just stand over there… But Clarke, Bellamy, you two _have_ to leave. This is _already_ impossible – we don't need you two sucking all the oxygen from the room, dammit!" Jasper's enormous eyes grew even wider as he watched Raven confront the couple. She was crazy. She was _obviously_ crazy. He shook his head, wondering how Monty handled it, being in love with someone that fearless. It was almost like she really believed she was invincible.

Bellamy looked ready to bite back, but Clarke grabbed his arm and nodded in the direction of the drop-ship door. Mei was overseeing Tyler as they re-stocked the med bay, so she actually had some free time; it would be nice to enjoy the warmer weather and check in on the camp. They wandered toward the far cabins silently; Clarke was thinking about the radio, Bellamy about the Exodus ship's arrival. He had a hard time imagining a positive outlook for himself, but he refused to mention anything to Clarke.

Instead, he pointed out the gardens that had taken over the space where their tents used to be, and Clarke shook her head in wonder at how resourceful their community was. Five months ago, she had been convinced half of them would kill her in her sleep. They were criminals, after all. How little she had understood them... And how well Bellamy had. These were just people betrayed by a flawed system. Given even this tiny half-chance at a new beginning, they had blossomed.

Bellamy stopped at the Wall to check in with Dell, who leered at Clarke and her rounding belly before turning to his leader. _Yup, still a dick._ Oh, well. They couldn't all be friends. Clarke continued on, knowing Bellamy would catch up; she wanted to see the latest set of cabins under construction. This was the part of Bellamy's life she envied. He had a better grasp on so much of the day-to-day logistics. She knew the benefits of this division in their leadership responsibilities, but sometimes the med bay – the whole damn drop-ship – could feel stifling.

Ten new structures in various states of completion formed a semi-circle at the top of a slope slightly apart from Clarke and Bellamy's home; they were just a bit smaller than the earliest four-person huts. These were cabins for families. There really was no choice, Clarke had pointed out. Mei's baby should not have to sleep in the drop-ship with all those other people. And if Bellamy wanted Lincoln and Octavia to stay, he had to offer them more than the third-floor storage room. As life stabilized, more of their friends would be making the transition to parenthood, too.

Clarke stepped into one of the empty houses while she waited for Bellamy. These were still very simple structures – just a square building with a pitched roof, and an interior wall creating two rooms. Clarke nodded appreciatively and moved back to the doorway; from this vantage point she had a perfect view of Bellamy as he made his way up the gentle hill to her. His dark t-shirt clung to his broad chest; the tan skin of his strong arms warmed her even from here. When he looked up and caught her eye, his pensive expression broke and he grinned that charming, boyish grin that consumed her.

Today would end well. It _had_ to end well. Clarke had hung her happiness on this beautiful, strong, loving man and she _would not_ let the Exodus ship's arrival damage what they had.

…

Monty thought he heard something over the radio. Raven was sure he hadn't. Jasper refused to participate, knowing the danger of choosing sides in this argument.

"We're so close, Raven. I know we're almost there. _So_ close," Monty begged gently. He pulled her face toward his, and as his deep eyes flickered down to her pouting lips, Raven felt her stubbornness – her whole body, really – melting. She let him kiss her, because… well, did she really need a reason? Because every time their mouths met it was like that first step into zero-G. Because he had uncovered the raw, defenseless core of her and instead of dismissing her or using her, he chose to love her. Unconditionally. And because he was _so_ damn good at it.

When he pulled back, she whimpered softly at the loss of his mouth. She had forgotten about Jasper; he coughed a light reminder, and Monty grinned at Raven sheepishly.

"Oh! Fine. Give me the damn stool," Raven grumbled, still pretending to be annoyed. She sat at the controls and her eyes squinted as she fiddled with the frequency, trying to make it true… for Monty…

…

Rufus and Rose wandered up the hill just as Clarke and Bellamy were tidying themselves at the small cabin's front door. (A moment alone, an empty building… they had taken advantage of the opportunity.) At the bright smile Rose flashed Bellamy, Clarke stiffened. She welcomed Rufus' visits, always: it was clear that Bellamy filled some hole in the old warrior's heart, and vice versa. But Rose… Every damn time, it was some new drama. First there had been that chaos with Miller, Tyler, and Mei: Rose seemed to think she was owed a replacement guard, since Tyler had given up his position in favor of the Healer's apprenticeship. A strict lecture from Clarke had barely resolved that controversy and soothed Mei's ire before Rose was on to her next bit of mayhem. Poor Jasper: he was still recovering from that ridiculous episode. And now, it seemed, she had come full circle and Clarke would have to stake her claim to Bellamy yet again. Honestly, this little girl…

"Bellamy! So good to see you, young friend!" Rufus began, blatantly ignoring his daughter's wantonness. Clarke rolled her eyes. She had learned a lot about parenting from watching the Forest Dweller – like what _not_ to do when raising a daughter. After a quick tour of the houses, Bellamy led everyone back down the hill. The rest of Rose's men were lining up at the drop-ship's entrance. Every visit to the camp was an opportunity to have old wounds examined, new ones cleaned and bandaged and – if necessary – stitched. Clarke slipped away to assist Mei and see how Tyler was faring.

Inside, she glanced cautiously toward Raven and Monty, but Jasper waved his long arms in a silent, frantic "no", and Clarke backed off. She wondered how many times Raven had yelled at Jasper so far today.

"Healer, welcome back," Tyler rumbled from his place at one exam table, stepping smoothly aside so Clarke could check on the warrior under his care. She smiled at his formality and glanced at the laceration on the warrior's shoulder, then nodded. Tyler had a gift. It had been right to extricate him from Rose's clutches, and offer him this chance.

"It seems to be healing well, Tyler. Nice job." Clarke moved on to the next table, where Mei was doing her best to prep a frightened young man named Samuel. He had been injured defending his mother and sister from a band of raiders last night, and the arrow still needed to be removed before Mei could clean and cauterize the wound. Clarke stepped in to hold Samuel's hands as Mei worked, but the pain was too much. He screamed and lunged for Mei, blinded by the agony, wanting only to make it stop. Clarke was thrown clear; she barely thought of herself though, panicked that Mei would be hurt by the terrified youth.

She should have known better. Miller was there, had never _not_ been there; he stepped between Mei and her attacker. Samuel's hands connected solidly with Miller's body and Clarke watched in horror, waiting for the retaliation… which did not come. Miller withstood the brief onslaught silently, until the boy remembered himself and shrank back in horror at his actions.

"Clarke?" Miller called out, not taking his eyes from the repentant Samuel.

"I'm fine, Miller; how's Mei?"

"It's fine, I'm fine; really," Mei panted. Forgetting her patient for the moment, Mei turned her attentions on Miller. Her hands gravitated to his, and she calmed noticeably.

"You know, you keep doing that," she whispered with a half-smile as she checked him over quickly.

"Doing what?"

"Getting between me and trouble," Mei explained. Miller smiled down at her.

"Always," he promised her, and his hands cupped her delicate face tenderly. "Xie xie," he thanked her as she finished, and the girl blushed. His Chinese was getting better, but he still had an accent. Well, there was time.

…

Clarke and Bellamy gathered their team at the gate. There was no more time. Sunset would come soon, and they still had a hard hike ahead of them.

"Ready for this?" Clarke asked, squeezing Bellamy's hand.

"Not really," he answered with a frown. His forehead was creased with worry.

"Hey! Bellamy, look at me," Clarke commanded softly. He turned to her but his eyes were unfocused, staring inward. She sighed. "I know my mom, Bellamy. She's stubborn. I told her you don't deserve to be arrested for attacking Jaha, and now she'll do _everything_ in her power to make sure it doesn't happen."

"It's not just that, Princess," Bellamy murmured. His gaze swept over the small but bustling community behind them. "All of this...? We built this. _You and me_, Princess - not them. But will they respect it? Respect us?" He stopped himself, but they both heard the unspoken part, the doubt and the pain. Clarke closed her eyes against Bellamy's pessimism. If Monty and Raven had succeeded, if it were Abby and her medical team... then maybe they would have a chance. But when the Chancellor's military personnel arrived... Well, Bellamy was right. All their work would be brushed aside in favor of the Ark's policies, the Ark's rules and regulations and thoughtless, fearful bureaucracy.

"It is time," Rufus asserted as he stepped toward them quietly. Bellamy nodded and the large welcoming party - Grounders and Fallen Ones, young leaders and aging warriors, Healers and lovers and friends - headed out to wait for the arrival of their newest neighbors.

...

...Until half the Exodus ship's engines stalled upon entry into the atmosphere, and the ship veered sharply to the West, and then disappeared over the horizon just as its landing parachutes deployed. The sun set on the silent welcoming committee at the edge of the forest. To a person, they stared in frozen confusion at the path the Exodus ship had taken, waiting for something... _more_... to happen. It didn't.


	28. Chapter 28

_[A/N: You all owe my beta, _Marina Black1_, a big slice of pecan pie and a glass of moscato. Her turnaround on this chapter was AMAZING. Show her the love by checking out her work too!]_

_[A/N2: A reminder & a **warning**: This story basically became AU pretty much from the moment Episode 7 ended. Which means several mid-season developments – including, for example, the entire Diana Sydney storyline, and Commander Shumway's arrest and murder - are irrelevant. Sorry for any confusion. Please bear that in mind as you continue, though. And **sensitive readers** should note this is the **sexiest Bellarke** has gotten in this story yet. I DID warn you...]_

_…_

**_"Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love." _**

**_~ Khalil Gibran_**

...

Bellamy turned to Clarke, his whole body a question.

"I… don't… know," she answered honestly. "I don't know what just happened." She looked around desperately for someone who might have an answer, but the only one might be Raven, and she was still at camp. "We have to get back," she decided. Bellamy looked up and called out the order.

As their people filed back into the forest, Bellamy glanced down. His hands were clenched in anticipatory fists, and he could not remember when that had happened. Eyebrows pinched together in confusion. They had avoided so much heartache this evening; what was there now, to make him this tense? He struggled.

Clarke noticed it too. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around his hands and stroking the scarred skin over his knuckles. He was somewhere dark, somewhere he had not visited in a long time. Clarke hated it, and in this moment she hated the Ark and everyone left aboard for their intrusion into the world, the life, she had forged with Bellamy.

"We have no choice, we have to talk to the Ark. We need to find out what just happened, and then we will… move on from there. Okay? Bellamy: we'll be okay." She wasn't sure who she meant to soothe with that last statement.

"It's not that." Bellamy shook his head, trying to put into words something he barely understood himself. "I thought this would be the end, Clarke. I thought…" words failed him and he pulled her in close, wanting to smell her, taste her, feel her warmth – wanting proof that she was still his. He had suppressed the panic and now that he had been granted this reprieve, the floodgates opened. "I can't lose you." His voice was a strangled mess**. **He kissed her with such a fierce possessiveness that he stole her breath away, and left within her a Bellamy-shaped heartache.

He should have told her, the fool, not suffered alone. By now she thought he would know better.

…

Rufus watched the couple from the tree line. He had doubled back when he found them missing from the larger group returning to the Fallen Ones' home, but as he neared them he realized this was a private moment. No doubt they had few enough of those.

When the young lovers finally moved toward the forest, the silver-streaked warrior made sure to step loudly on a fallen branch, alerting them to his presence. Bellamy greeted him immediately, but there was some cloud over the couple.

"You are not happy, Bellamy," Rufus noted. "But I think it will all end well. The ship did not crash – we would have seen such an explosion. I am certain your people survived."

"They're not _my_ people," Bellamy muttered. He recalled a speech he had given within days of their arrival, before he really knew Clarke or understood how much she cared about each of them: "_My_ people are down here." As the trio wound their way through the darkening woods, Bellamy did his best to explain. He talked about the Chancellor, and described Commander Shumway's offer-that-was-really-a-threat. Rufus nodded along as Bellamy explained how Clarke's mother had saved the Chancellor, but narrowed his eyes when Bellamy told him they did not know how the Chancellor's men had been ordered to deal with Bellamy.

"I may already be a dead man," Bellamy finished, head bowed.

"There would be no justice in that," Rufus asserted. "Your people rely upon you. Your leader, perhaps most of all." He smiled at Clarke fondly as he spoke.

"I won't disagree with you," she smiled back. How could she thank Rufus, who had walked into their lives and in such a short time become so important to them both?

As they drew nearer to the Wall, a tree-top chorus of whistles began. She glanced above her, searching for the source of the calls, but their perches were too well-hidden, especially in the gathering dark. It cheered her to know the young lookouts were so safe from attackers. There had been two attempted raids since she and Anya agreed to the treaty; the other clans knew about the Fallen Ones, but most had been waiting for Anya's warriors to get rid of the intruders. Once news spread, though, that Anya had joined with the Fallen Ones… The clans at war with Anya were now also at war with Clarke. It was just the way of things.

…

"Raven," Monty's gentle voice cut through the gloom in the drop-ship. Raven looked up, surprised to discover night had fallen.

"You were right, I heard something too," she admitted apologetically. She turned back to the radio, determined to find it again.

"Raven… you have to stop. Just for the night."

"_NO_, Monty! We're so damn close."

He grabbed her wrist firmly, pulling her fingers away from the radio's controls, and with his other hand Monty freed Raven's warm brown tresses from their messy ponytail. He smiled down at her, at her hair cascading softly around those heavy bedroom eyes, and could not hide the longing in his face. Raven's breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him, watching, anticipating…

He dragged her off the stool, pulling her into him for a long, deep, hungry kiss.

"Don't mind me, I'm just here to see how the work is going," Bellamy interrupted. Raven stepped back from Monty, pissed.

_"Mother FU -_" Monty covered her mouth with his hand just in time.

"Sorry," he apologized. "It's just been… a very long day. A very long _week_," he admitted. He pulled Raven back against him; she tucked herself into his shoulder, and Bellamy felt a little shitty for pushing them so hard.

"Alright; get some sleep you two. There's always tomorrow," he ordered before slipping back outside and heading home.

They had been officially freed from their duties. Monty looked down at Raven and smiled temptingly. Her face rose to meet his without hesitation. Gone was the exhaustion that had threatened to overwhelm her just minutes ago – the feeling of Monty's solid form against hers had been just the fuel she needed.

…

_Tomorrow._ Bellamy smiled and broke into a jog, impatient to get back to Clarke.

He still had a tomorrow. With her.

Their little cabin was cozy with the woman he loved, the child she carried… he burst in, already aching for her, and found her sitting in the rocking chair, lit gently by a small lantern on the big table, humming one of Bellamy's lullabies as her hands rested on the little swell at her waist.

In three great strides he was before her. He lifted Clarke to her feet and sought out her mouth, parting her soft lips easily. She groaned with unrestrained desire as he tasted her, taking his time, flashing a brilliant grin when she pressed forward suddenly in an attempt to take control of their kiss. He shook his head, and only then did Clarke realize he had a gentle grip on her wrists. One arm was wrapped firmly around her, and he clutched both her hands against the small of her back. It drove her crazy, but as Bellamy's mouth traveled slowly down her throat she smiled to herself. It was… _hot_, giving up control to him - for just this brief moment...

When Bellamy peeled her shirt off one shoulder in order to free her breast, Clarke's eyes closed in warm anticipation. His mouth captured her hard, sensitive nipple and Clarke was suddenly thankful for the support of Bellamy's arm at her waist. She called to him, her voice husky, and the sound of it triggered something primal in him. In the space of one long ragged breath, Clarke found herself pinned against the wall, her hands now trapped firmly over her head. Her body betrayed her; when Bellamy pressed up against her, ever-mindful to avoid the beautiful sweet roundness of her belly, she moaned and arched into him, pleading for relief from this devastating craving for him. In response, Bellamy's hips dug into hers deliciously, a promise of what was to come.

She leaned forward, desperate for his mouth, panting his name; he gave in finally, and as they kissed he released her. The kiss deepened, became ever more urgent, until Bellamy stopped Clarke with a smile, a wink, and a finger pressed against her eager lips. She frowned impatiently, but he slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head in one smooth motion and her pulse quickened. He carefully stripped her naked, taking his time, loving every quiver and moan his hands elicited, driving her right up to the cliff's edge… and then he stopped. He stepped back, taunting her for the briefest moment, enjoying the way the small lantern behind him threw deep shadows over her glowing, trembling, yearning flesh.

His need surpassing all reason now, Bellamy stripped off his own layers of clothing and closed the space between them, grabbing Clarke's hips, searching out her lips. Lifting her up against the smooth wall, he entered her with a silent prayer of thanks for this goddess in his hands. Her eyes drifted shut at the honey-gold feeling of satiated need, at the hot hard pleasure of him moving against her, inside her, until finally she could stand it no more, and she cried out her love for him as his body sent hers into tremor after tremor of terrible ecstasy.

…

When Clarke and Bellamy walked into the drop-ship early the next morning, Monty and Raven were already at the controls, bickering gently over frequencies and feedback. The four friends had the room to themselves for now, which suited the exhausted Clarke just fine. Bellamy's temporary reprieve had relieved some invisible pressure within them both, and in their elation the exultant, passionate pair had barely slept, although they had eventually moved their love-making to the bedroom. Not that she was complaining about any of it; but an uneventful day would certainly be appreciated.

"Updates," Bellamy demanded, not bothering with greetings. The stresses of yesterday had been a wake-up call; they needed to resolve some things with the Ark's remaining citizens, as soon as possible.

"Dude!" Monty chastised him without thinking. Raven turned away to hide her smirk and Bellamy's eyes widened at the tone. Monty just looked shocked at his own impertinence.

"I see the mechanic's rubbing off on you," Bellamy finally responded with an arched brow. "To be honest, I was hoping that would go the other way." Clarke snorted and bit her lip.

"I, uh…" Monty was still struggling to recover.

"We'll have contact today," Raven cut in. "We caught something last night but it was too late to do anything useful."

"Speaking of yesterday, what happened out there?" Monty finally piped up. Tied to the radio as they were, they had been out of the loop when the news had circulated.

"The Exodus ship… I think there was partial engine failure. It looked like it was going to crash, but I don't think it did," Clarke offered. "The 'chutes deployed on time. It's somewhere to the West of us."

"Okay. When do we leave?" Raven asked.

"Sorry?"

"We have to go get them, right?" Raven glanced from Bellamy to Clarke and back again. They seemed to have a different idea. "I… guess what I meant to say was: Are we going to look for them?" she corrected herself, surprised.

"No." Bellamy's voice was quick and final. It told the room in general that this was not a debatable topic. "They can come find us if they want; they know where we are. The Ark sent us down here with less than nothing, and we did okay. The Exodus people can do the same." He didn't say it aloud, but the darkness in his soul quietly added, _Survival of the fittest, assholes_.**  
**

…

It was nearly sunset again when Sinclair's voice drifted out from the radio, and by then Monty was so exhausted he almost missed it. Raven grabbed his arm in excitement before answering, asking Sinclair to find Abby or Jaha. She sent Jasper to retrieve Bellamy and Clarke.

"You know he's not _really_ our personal assistant, right?" Monty observed mildly once Jasper had slipped away. Raven smiled indulgently.

"You miss him," she hazarded.

"What?" Monty scoffed and draped his arm over Raven's shoulder, pulling her close.

"You looove him," Raven teased. But she sobered quickly. "It's okay, Monty. He's family. I get it. I mean - I don't really, because I actually had a shitty family, but… you guys are tight. That's a good thing."

"Jasper adores you, you know," Monty finally answered. "I think mostly he's just very happy for us." Raven grinned at that.

"Clarke?" Abby's voice wavered out from the radio. To Raven she sounded relieved, but also exhausted.

"Abby, sorry, no - it's Raven. Clarke's on her way."

"Raven! How are you? What happened? We thought you'd been attacked."

"No, not attacked..." _Well, not the kind Abby meant_, Raven thought. "Just an accident with the radio. We tried to fix it before the Exodus ship launched but no luck."

Raven heard Abby gasp at mention of the Exodus ship, and her voice when she continued was tighter, more concerned.

"You saw the Exodus ship land? How -? … Wait, no. Look; let me find Thelonius, Raven, just…" and her voice faded. Raven and Monty sat patiently, grinning at each other, amazed that they had gotten through to the Ark once again. Jasper loped back in with Clarke and Bellamy in tow, just as the Chancellor's voice crackled through the radio.

"Miss Reyes? …Raven?"

"Chancellor, uh…sir," Raven said, grimacing and shrugging her shoulders nervously at Clarke. She had never really spoken to the Chancellor, and did not know how to do so now. Clarke stepped in, to Raven's obvious relief.

"Chancellor Jaha?"

"Clarke!" Jaha's deep voice still carried that mixture of joy and grief every time he spoke to her; he knew exactly why Wells had ended up in the drop-ship, and he could not yet separate his feelings for his son from those he had for Clarke Griffin.

"Yes, sir." With so many listening ears, Clarke tried to maintain a layer of formality. This man was as much an uncle to her as one could have in a world without siblings, but to the rest of the teenagers gathered around, that did not matter. He was just the Ark's final authority, not Wells' dad or Jake Griffin's best friend.

Too bad he hadn't taken the hint.

"How's the pregnancy treating you?" Clarke blushed at the question.

"Fine, Chancellor. Just… progressing normally." She cleared her throat, trying to find a way to change the subject delicately. "Sir, we need to discuss the Exodus ship."

"Yes, of course; forgive me." Clarke could hear it in his voice; Jaha was embarrassed at being caught in that moment of sentimentality. Clarke knew the truth, though. It was so typical of him to think first of individual triumphs and trials, to see the trees instead of the forest. And it was what got him elected in the first place, for better or worse.

"The Exodus ship. It launched on time, but there were complications when it passed into the atmosphere," Jaha explained, adopting his formal Chancellor voice now. "Radio communication was patchy, but we know they planned to make an emergency landing, after suffering catastrophic engine failure. We lost radio contact completely after that, so there must be other structural damage; but since all military personnel were outfitted with Dr. Griffin's monitoring bracelets, we can at least tell you that almost everyone survived." _Military personnel_, thought Clarke dejectedly.

"So, only security forces were sent down?" she asked, without much hope.

"When we lost contact with you three weeks ago, we assumed the worst: namely, that you were under attack. The Council decided we should focus on subduing the Grounders before we could make other plans." Jaha paused. "Frankly, we assumed you were all…" he cleared his throat roughly, and the wistful inquiries into Clarke's pregnancy took on an even more poignant note in light of this revelation.

"Uhh, yeah, except isn't that why they sent us here in the first place? To die?" Jasper whispered to Bellamy. There was no answer. Their leader was lost to some internal struggle. Jasper turned to Monty, and tried the line again. This time he got a better response: Monty raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Clarke heard the comment – both times – and shot Jasper a dirty look. _Not helping_, she telegraphed to the lanky teen.

"Chancellor, our radio was _not_ damaged by Grounders. In fact," Clarke licked her lips, and leaned forward slightly. Bellamy wasn't going to like this. "Bellamy Blake has helped coordinate a truce with the Grounders. We've been working together with them for the past three weeks. What we need, more than anything right now, are medical supplies." _And my mom._

Bellamy leaned against the wall of the drop-ship, his arms crossed, and gave her a stare that meant they most certainly would have words later. She averted her gaze.

"_Bellamy Blake_? Are you sure?" came the Chancellor's startled response over the radio. Bellamy let out a cynical laugh and looked away; now he was the one wanting to escape Clarke's stare. How could he have expected anything more from those on the Ark, really?

"Yes sir. Bellamy Blake. The man who was hired to shoot you."

"Wait, hang on – did she say _hired_?" The voice was no longer Jaha's; it belonged to Marcus Kane, the council member tasked with Ark security. There was a sudden disjointed murmuring in the background, and while words were difficult to make out, Clarke heard her mother's warm, urgent voice, mixed in with the Chancellor's baritone and Kane, over it all, finally speaking clearly enough to be understood: "Well, we have to pursue this, Thelonius."

"Clarke, what do you know about this man, Bellamy Blake?" Kane asked. Raven clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle what would have been the world's most inappropriate laugh. Clarke studiously avoided looking her friend's way.

"Plenty. Bellamy is here, actually, if you want to speak to him directly."

The silence lasted one brief moment, but to those in the drop-ship, clustered around possibly the ugliest working radio ever built, it was endless. Clarke filled that silence with terror-soaked images of herself alone, raising this child without Bellamy. For his part, the interminable silence was where the darkness grew and festered, creeping up to remind him of who he really was: not a leader of men or hopeful founder of a new society; no, just a janitor, a janitor with a chip on his shoulder and the moral clarity of any would-be killer.

"Bellamy Blake?" Kane's voice when it came back was crisper, more authoritative.

"Sir," Bellamy answered immediately. His face was a careful mask. It had to be. For Clarke.

"Clarke Griffin claims you were _hired_ to shoot the Chancellor. Why should I believe her?" Bellamy almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.

"Have you _met_ her?"

"Are you evading the question, Blake?" Kane's voice had hardened; the squint was almost audible.

"No, I'm not 'evading the question'…_sir._ You should believe Clarke because she's honest. Or you could just believe her because it's true."

Silence. Again. Jasper looked down and realized he was both tapping his foot and chewing on his fingernails at the same time. He tried to compose himself, get ahold of his nerves.

"I'll have to investigate the claims, conduct interrogations, review security logs. This is no small accusation, Blake. Before you decide to point fingers, you better think carefully about what you're trying to claim here."

Bellamy bristled and opened his mouth to retort - but Clarke saw the flash of anger in his eyes and cut him off.

"Wait!" She shook her head at him vehemently as she spoke to Kane, giving Bellamy a moment to cool down. "Councilor, before Bellamy gives you any information, we'll need something in return."

"What is that, Miss Griffin?"

"We need the Chancellor's pardon." She held her breath, and again there was silence. This was longer. Much, much longer. Clarke bowed her head, waiting. Wishing. Finally, she could take it no longer. "Mom?" Her voice cracked on the syllable, but she continued, and as she spoke the tears fell freely. "Please, Mom. I love him."

Every pair of lungs in the drop-ship exhaled heavily at the very public confession.

Bellamy knelt down quickly beside the stool on which Clarke sat, grabbed her face tenderly - and he kissed her, he kissed her as if it were the last kiss they would ever share.

"I love you," he declared to her as he pulled away, and it was more than just a statement, it was a vow. This was not 'til death do us part' – this was past death, on into forever.

"Fine. _If_ your claims prove valid, your past crimes will be forgiven, Mr. Blake" Chancellor Jaha's deep, formal voice cut into the moment, and Clarke laughed in giddy relief at the impeccable timing, wiping at her damp eyes. Bellamy grabbed her gratefully to his chest, and as he held her he told Chancellor Jaha and Councilor Kane everything. He described how it had been Commander Shumway who promised to get him onto the drop-ship with his sister if he agreed, and to have him floated if he refused; he told them the size of his borrowed uniform and the make and model of his handgun, the day and time Shumway approached him, anything that could help verify his story.

"Commander Shumway?" Marcus Kane's voice was heavy with doubt. "Well, Blake, he's going to be pretty damn hard to interrogate."

Bellamy's blood churned viciously in his veins at Kane's words. The others had not made the jump yet.

"Wait, why?" Raven cut in.

"Because Commander Shumway is leading the security team that just landed on Earth."

Bellamy did not actually hear the Councilor's words; the darkness was clamoring within him, and its voice was a single, deafening declaration:

_HE IS HERE._

* * *

**_Ok. Big deep breath. Here goes: I am pretty sure I am terrible at writing men. Might be that I have less experience actually being one, I guess. So... if ANY of you are male - statistically, there has to be at least one or two, right? - I'd really love to get a sense of just how bad it is. But please be gentle when explaining it. I am super neurotic about my writing. I'm fairly certain it all sucks and everyone on here is just SO kind they don't want to tell me. So if you have advice on capturing the male voice, I would LOVE to know it... in a nice kind, possibly slightly girly way. THANK YOU! xoxo_**


	29. Chapter 29

"PENULTIMATE: _(adj.)_ last but one in a series of things; second to the last."

_[A/N: A __reminder__ and a __**warning**__: This story basically became AU pretty much from the moment Episode 7 ended. Which means several mid-season developments – including, for example, the entire __Diana Sydney__ storyline, and __Commander Shumway's arrest and murder__ - are irrelevant. Sorry for any confusion. Please bear that in mind as you continue, though. And __**sensitive readers**__ – are there any left out there? - should probably just not read this. Sorry. It's "The 100".]_

_…_

**_"Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love."_**

**_~ Khalil Gibran_**

…

Lincoln slipped up quietly behind two men: one long and lean and battle-ready, the other shorter and more world-weary, but clearly still full of fight. He unsheathed a large double-bladed hunting knife, but before he could take the next step, the younger of the pair spun, his hunting bow already drawn, an arrow trained at Lincoln's eye. The hands were rock-steady as he prepared to fire. Lincoln chuckled, relaxing his stance immediately.

"Dammit Lincoln!" Bellamy growled, "I could have killed you!" He un-notched the arrow and looked at Rufus, who grinned broadly. "On second thought, I should have just killed him."

"Better men than you have tried," Lincoln stated simply, sheathing his knife in the top of his boot. "How is our student, Rufus?"

"He is… determined," Rufus began cautiously, not wanting to give away too much in front of Bellamy. "He is about to do a final run for the morning, if you wish to observe."

"Hey, I didn't approve an audience," Bellamy protested with a frown. Lincoln patted him on the shoulder.

"I understand your concerns: the pressure, the fear of failure…" Lincoln let the idea hang in the air, and Bellamy knew he was being goaded, but he also knew he was _good_.

"Fuck! Fine!" - And he was gone, notching his first arrow as he ran the circuit Rufus and Lincoln had constructed, searching for the ten constantly-repositioned targets that were sprinkled along this forest path. This course was never the same twice, a fine bit of genius that kept Bellamy's men in top form and ever-vigilant.

Lincoln looked over at Rufus, waiting for an honest appraisal of this onetime enemy who had become a valuable friend.

"If I had to pick any five men to take with me into battle, he would be my third choice," Rufus admitted after a minute. Coming from a man who had done just that, many times over, it was high praise. Lincoln knew it.

"You have heard the rumors?" Lincoln asked anxiously, as quietly as possible. They appeared to be alone out here, but one of the biggest regrets of Lincoln's life had been teaching Octavia to track. Even at almost seven months pregnant, he never knew quite where she was - until she appeared from nowhere, grinning her gorgeous ice-melting grin at having bested him once again.

Rufus nodded almost imperceptibly.

"They are coming." He did not name them, in part because there was no need, and in part because a superstition had developed in just these two months. Nobody actually talked about the Exodus soldiers directly. They were referred to in general terms, and then only rarely. The stories that had come with travelers from the West were chilling. These were heartless killers. They did not take anything but food from the villages they slaughtered; they did not settle anywhere for more than a week. They laid no roots, made no allies, had no rules or morals or souls. The Exodus soldiers were agents of death and destruction, brought to Earth to wreak havoc.

"When?" Bellamy asked softly from behind them, startling them both. Rufus laughed and grabbed Bellamy's shoulder proudly for having given them the slip. Lincoln frowned.

"Octavia taught you?"

"She's my sister. There's not much we keep from each other," Bellamy shrugged, momentarily distracted. The men walked the circuit, and Lincoln offered advice on better angles and sightlines where it was necessary, but Rufus was right: it _was_ hardly necessary any more.

"Now: when will they get here?" Bellamy asked again as they headed back through the gate and pushed their way through the bustle near the gardens. The spring crops needed to be harvested, and all available hands were participating. Bellamy stopped suddenly. He had just spied a bent figure whose white-gold mane cascaded over her shoulders, blocking her face as she tended to the gardens along with everyone else.

"Princess…" he began in frustration, but Rufus laid a gentle hand on his young friend's forearm.

"A princess… who leads by example," he pointed out gently. Rufus watched Bellamy's features soften as he took a moment to observe her, toiling beside Raven and the others. There was no man alive who could love a woman more fiercely than Bellamy loved his Clarke, of that Rufus was sure. His love for Anya, deep as it was, was still a calmer, more settled love. It was a limpid forest pool where travelers might stop to refresh themselves. Bellamy's love was the high waterfall and the deep raging whitewater. It caught others up in its tumbling passion and dragged them along relentlessly. Somehow Clarke had channeled that violent force, had turned it to good; this young community was proof of that, and Rufus had a kind of fearful respect for the power of these two together.

Clarke stopped to wipe some sweat from her brow, and caught Bellamy's eye; she blushed, embarrassed at being found working in the gardens. Rufus felt Bellamy shift suddenly at the sight of that delicate color rising in her cheeks. The older man leaned in close.

"We are done for the morning; go to her." Bellamy glanced down and his features were conflicted for just a moment. "She needs you, and I… I need a drink. Go, son." Bellamy nodded gratefully and disappeared, and Rufus turned immediately to Lincoln.

"When?" He asked the question Bellamy had temporarily forgotten.

"The traveler I spoke to said they were closing on the Mississippi River. And that was ten days ago."

"They will have crossed by now. We have four weeks, if we are lucky. Three weeks, if not." They both knew they would not be lucky.

…

Lincoln found Octavia in the drop-ship, working alongside Mei as they treated young Samuel for another arrow wound. Tyler was upstairs, busy with the inventory; spring harvest meant a new influx of medicinal herbs, and Clarke wanted the med bay well-stocked for every eventuality.

"Samuel, this would not happen if you joined the others in the village," Lincoln chastised the poor boy, who was staring at the ever-watchful Miller in dread.

"I have no choice," Samuel explained wretchedly. "My mother will not leave her home."

"Surely you and I can go, and talk to her together?" Lincoln suggested. Samuel shook his head.

"I like you, Lincoln. I do not want you to die at my mother's hand," Samuel answered morosely. Mei nodded at Lincoln gratefully and stepped back. Samuel had needed only two stitches this time but, for someone with so much experience in their med bay, he was still such a jumpy patient. Lincoln's conversation had provided just the distraction Mei required.

Rose entered carrying a small canteen and smiled at Lincoln and Mei, neither of whom bothered to smile back; Lincoln, in fact, excused himself and headed outside. The black-haired girl was an extra handful of trouble he did not need today. Rose wandered over to Octavia and leaned against the wall near her, watching the pregnant woman's hands as they crushed dried seaweed in a small mortar and pestle.

"That looks very tiring," Rose commented. "And in your condition… Let me help you." She reached out and grabbed the bowl before Octavia had a chance to protest.

"Rose, I don't -"

"Oh, can you hold this for me?" Rose smiled and traded her canteen for the stone pestle, then began crushing the plant with smooth, practiced movements.

"You must try some of that tea," she added in an absentminded voice as she worked. "It's one of my favorites. Go ahead, try it."

Octavia looked doubtfully at the canteen.

"What's in it?" She uncapped the bottle for a quick smell; its odor was a bit fruity and sweet, but there was also a crisp, fresh scent in there. It smelled fantastic.

"It is a very old recipe," Rose pinched back an arrogant smile at the fool. This was going to be _so much _fun. "Raspberries, mint leaves, belladonna, some dandelion to aid digest -"

She never finished her sentence. Monty leaped from his place at the communications desk, shoved Rose aside, and slapped the canteen out of Octavia's hands. The room froze and everyone stared in confusion at the river of liquid that now trickled along the floor between Octavia and Monty.

"Belladonna, Rose? Really?" Monty's eyes were wide and his breathing was rushed, a side-effect of the adrenaline that had carried him the length of the drop-ship with such sudden violence.

"What's going on?" Octavia cocked her head at Monty, and her brow furrowed.

"Belladonna... It's also called 'deadly nightshade', Octavia." He tilted his head at Rose in disbelief. "Why would you even -"

"Wait, nightshade? I have heard of that. It is what we use to poison our knives and arrows," Samuel shared in surprise.

Mei gasped and looked from Samuel to Rose for some explanation. Octavia needed none; her cheeks flushed with anger and she charged forward, grabbing for Rose. Monty tried to stop her, but he would have failed had Miller not stepped in to help.

"Not like this, Octavia," Monty offered, trying to calm the livid woman.

"She just tried to kill me, Monty!" Octavia wanted to scratch her eyes out, or maybe crush her windpipe, or at least… just… kick her head in. There were so many violent and satisfying options, and she wanted to try them all.

…

Rufus and Lincoln returned without Rose later that day. There was a shadow hanging between the two friends, and Miller, standing at the drop-ship's entrance, wondered what Anya's final judgment had been. He knew Bellamy had been firmly in Lincoln's camp; the girl should be executed for trying to kill Octavia. It was the first fight he had ever had with Rufus, who accompanied Lincoln and Rose hoping to plead leniency for his daughter.

Bellamy stared in silent anger at Rufus as they approached the entrance to the drop-ship; the muscle that ran to his clenched jaw ticked as he glared, waiting for the pronouncement.

"A new Second will be required to represent Anya in future dealings," Lincoln declared. "Rose has been turned out of our clan. She may live, but she will not have the protection of the Forest Dwellers. Perhaps another clan will take her in, perhaps not," as a young healthy woman, she would certainly be adopted quickly, "But she is no longer our concern."

Rufus shook his head, still unhappy with the decision. Bellamy refused to look at him.

"And the new Second?" Bellamy prompted.

"Anya will ask Octavia."

"No she won't."

"Ask me what?"

"Get back inside, O."

"Bellamy, don't be a dick. Anya will ask me what?"

"Octavia," Lincoln began, and his pride was obvious, "Anya has picked you to be her new Second."

Octavia's eyes widened. She grinned devilishly at Bellamy and punched him in the arm.

"Second! D'you hear that, Bell? Anya's _Second_!" Bellamy grabbed her shoulder and tried to calm her down, but she slipped easily from his grasp and joined Lincoln. Her eager face glowed up at the father of her child.

"Octavia, wait - so what now? You're just going to leave us? Leave _me_?" Her brother tried – and failed - to keep the hurt out of his voice. Rufus stepped forward, wanting to help, but Bellamy was not quite ready for that particular reconciliation. As far as he was concerned, Rose was also responsible for this latest painful development.

"Bellamy, it's time. You have to let me go." Octavia smiled with loving indulgence. "Mom didn't mean I should be your responsibility _forever_. You've done your job, Bell, and I love you. Always. But… You're about to be a father for _real_ this time, remember? And that baby needs you a lot more than I do." Lincoln wrapped his broad arm around Octavia's waist as she spoke - and Bellamy realized she was right. He exhaled slowly.

"I hate this," he warned her. Her eyes sparkled.

"I don't think you have to like it, really. You just have to accept it."

…

"Rufus already lost a daughter today, Bellamy. It would be so cruel if he loses you, too," Clarke murmured softly as she leaned against him. They were sitting around the main campfire, relaxing after dinner. Bellamy growled irritably. He had not had a good day, and Clarke kept poking at all the wrong parts of it. She had been excited for Octavia too, and even tried to convince him that Anya's decision to banish Rose made sense. Now she was needling him about Rufus. She was maddening sometimes.

"Well, too bad, because here he is." Clarke motioned behind her at the older man, and vacated her spot so he could have a seat beside Bellamy. As they greeted each other awkwardly, Clarke smiled to herself and moved around the circle to join Raven and Monty. Let the men find each other again; she was sure they would.

"So, hero. When's the ceremony?" she teased Monty. He blushed.

"No ceremony, thanks. I still can't believe it, though. I mean, why would Rose even say it out loud?"

"Because she's an evil, cocky bitch who didn't think any of us would be smart enough to figure out what Belladonna is!" Raven declared. She kissed Monty sweetly on the cheek. "Even Samuel had never heard it called that before. Too bad she didn't know about our secret weapon!"

"Seriously, Monty. That was amazing. Thank you," Clarke added. Monty shifted uncomfortably under the attention.

"All we have down here is each other, right? I owe you and Bellamy my life. I'm just glad I could repay that somehow."

Clarke shook her head at the modesty, and changed the subject.

"How's the Ark doing?" she asked. He frowned a bit.

"They've officially given up on contacting anyone from the Exodus ship," he began. "The soldiers were declared a rogue force today. Whatever that means."

Clarke smiled grimly. It meant they had just been given Jaha's tacit permission to fend off Shumway and his troops when they came. Bellamy would be pleased.

"And when is the next launch window?" Now that there was peace, and the community had proven itself stable, the Ark council was impatient to relieve the burden on the station's ancient life-support systems. Bellamy had been adamant, though: the citizens of the Ark would be welcome only if they could assimilate. If they couldn't… well, it was a big planet, and they could damn well start their own colonies elsewhere.

"Not until this fall," Raven answered. So that sealed it – they were on their own. Commander Shumway was coming, would be here in a matter of weeks with trained soldiers and modern weapons and a thirst for Grounder blood that seemed unquenchable. Clarke had seaweed and frightened teenagers with bows and arrows.

…

Lincoln's scouts were the first to see evidence of their approach. They moved with terrifying precision, and when Lincoln arrived at the forest's edge to get a view for himself, his heart sank. Nearly eighty troops were crossing the valley floor. There were far too few seasoned fighters among his people, and even fewer among the Fallen Ones. They had plenty of eager young men and women, but it was nothing more than murder to send them up against this… wall of death.

"Out there, we'd stand no chance. We have to draw them into the forest," Bellamy said from just over his shoulder. Lincoln nodded, impressed yet again at being caught off-guard. If only they were all like this one. Silent. Deadly. But more than that, Bellamy had a missionary zeal about the upcoming fight, and no amount of training could engender that passion in others.

The two friends turned mutely for home, enjoying the peace of the evening.

Bellamy looked up in shock at the sound of a familiar whistle, the one signifying his own return to camp. He did not realize the network of bridges and platforms had grown this far out.

"When did _that_ happen?" he wondered aloud.

"Jasper suggested it to Reynolds and Jayne a few weeks ago," Lincoln answered. "But I did not realize it was so extensive." Bellamy looked at the giant warrior, surprised, but then he smiled.

"Octavia was spying?"

"She is a dangerous woman," Lincoln admitted. "I am glad she is on our side." At those words, Bellamy stopped cold. He frowned.

"She's _not_ to be a part of this, Lincoln. I thought that would be obvious. Especially to you."

"Bellamy, can _you_ stop her? I cannot. And if we lose tomorrow, we will all die anyway. Every last one of us. You have heard the stories: they do not leave survivors."

Bellamy felt sick at hearing the words said aloud. He had pushed away the paralyzing fear of what it meant to lose, had stuffed it deep inside to feed the darkness. It had no place out here in the daylight. He ran one hand through his curls and closed his eyes for a moment, searching out equilibrium.

"Better not lose then, Grounder," he announced with a lift of his eyebrows.

…

The battle started in the way all battles must: with a death.

Dell was too impatient. He had never gotten the hang of the spear, or the bow and arrow. For him, the bloodlust always struck when he made contact with his opponent's flesh. He saw no point in killing from a distance. So as Commander Shumway's scouts entered the forest cautiously, Drew sighed and tried to hold Dell back. He was tasked with keeping Dell in this hiding place for as long as possible. Lincoln and Bellamy wanted to harness that vicious energy, unleash him when he would inflict the most damage - which would be in the chaos of close combat that came later. Bellamy's archers were better suited to dealing with these first scouting troops.

Dell had other plans. As soon as an Exodus soldier came within striking distance, the eager teen slipped out from behind the blind that held half a dozen others, and he broke the man's neck with a sickening crunch and a psychopathic smile. The man had not yet hit the ground, and Dell was running straight at the next soldier, who barely had a chance to lift his gun before a sharp hunting knife ripped him open. There appeared to be something magical about Dell as he moved; he didn't slow down, he just searched out his next victim, and Bellamy shivered to think that this monster had lived among them for so long. It was not until he had taken out three soldiers that the scouts gathered themselves enough to respond. A burst of gunfire broke the eerie silence of the woods and Dell dropped mid-leap.

Well, they were as good as fucked now. Bellamy whistled to his men – silently thanking the brilliance of Jayne and Reynolds as he did so – and the archers rose smoothly, picking off soldiers where they could. The Ark's guidance had been helpful – they were indeed heavily armored. An arrow through the eye was almost the only guaranteed way to stop a man, but most of these kids lacked Bellamy's natural skill.

At least their initial plan had worked. Shumway turned his troops Bellamy's way, unaware that he had been flanked by Rufus' men and their spears. The archers let themselves be pushed back, taking out Exodus soldiers whenever possible, until they reached the river's edge. At Bellamy's command his men melted away, leaving their opponents frustrated and confused. This was not what they expected. For two months they had been fighting and killing, in every possible terrain, and always they easily overpowered their foe. These Grounders were different. They seemed too prepared. It was as if they were ready for guns and armor. It was almost as if… Shumway called out to his men. _Dammit._ The Ark delinquents must be here, it was the only explanation. They were fighting alongside the Grounders.

Shumway gritted his teeth and bit back a moment of panic. Had Blake survived after all?

…

Inside the Wall, Clarke was the eye at the center of the hurricane. She stood at the drop-ship's entrance conducting triage; only the most serious injuries made it inside to Mei. If it was just a case of cleaning and stitches she sent them to Tyler near the main campfire. Basic first aid was Raven's responsibility; she was set up to the side of the drop-ship. Then there was that area just outside the Wall, the space reserved for those cases where Clarke and Mei had gotten there too late, or never even had a chance. It was a small collection, but it grew steadily throughout the day. Octavia, despite Lincoln and Bellamy's misgivings, was the only thing keeping Clarke sane. She slipped in and out of the Wall and the woods so quietly she might as well have been a ghost, feeding Clarke constant updates, always careful to include Bellamy's latest position.

When Miller dumped Samuel at Raven's feet, he just shook his head in disbelief. Raven raised one curious eyebrow, letting it serve as her question.

"He tripped. On a root. I'm fucking _done_ with this kid, Raven; he's your problem now. I need to get back to Lincoln."

Raven chewed on her lip, trying to decide… she jumped to her feet.

"Miller, before you go back, there's something you should know." She glanced around, still wondering if maybe she was crossing some moral or ethical line that – ah fuck it, this was clearly the right thing to do.

"He's on Earth, Miller. The dad." Miller just looked at her blankly. Raven stared at him, waiting for comprehension to strike. "You have _got_ to be kidding me! Mei's baby-daddy? He's here, dammit!" She spoke quickly now, nearly running her words together, eager to help him understand. "It's a really _really_ long story but the short version is that Clarke told me not to tell the people on the Ark that I was pretty sure he was blonde but I did it anyway, I told Abby, and she looked into it and said there were only two guards who were blonde when Mei was in the Skybox and they _both_ came down with Shumway but I don't know which – oh okay so you're already gone -" Miller's face had hardened with hatred as Raven spoke, and he took off for the gate before she finished.

"I really hope that was the right thing to do," Raven muttered to herself.

"Well, if your goal was to get someone killed, then yes. I think you did the right thing," Samuel offered from behind her.

…

Miller focused on his breathing as he ran back to Lincoln and the other hand-to-hand combatants. His father had taught him the breathing trick when he was first learning to read, for when the panic and the fury started to overtake him. _Just focus on your breathing, son_. Just breathe. It gave his mind something else to do, so his body could get on with its other duties. He was pretty sure his father hadn't expected Miller to use it while preparing to kill a man.

He made it back to the blind in plenty of time, and Lincoln nodded a quick greeting. They weren't friends, exactly, but they had come to a cautious understanding of each other. Enough to get through this day, anyway.

"Is something wrong?" Lincoln asked as Miller tried to settle himself.

"What do you mean?" His voice was too defensive, and he knew it.

"You seem… upset."

"Well, I'm thinking some people are going to die out here today. That's pretty fucking upsetting," Miller retorted. Lincoln shrugged his shoulders. Whatever was wrong, Miller seemed to have a reasonably good handle on it. As long as he could fight, Lincoln decided, there was no point probing any deeper.

…

As the day wore on, Rufus and his men pushed the Exodus troops along the river's edge, guiding them carefully toward Bellamy's next trap.

Shumway paid no attention to the trilling calls overhead. He had traveled hundreds of miles, heard and seen and killed animals he never expected to encounter. Songbirds were of no value to him, and he dismissed the noise without a second thought.

Which he now realized, as arrows rained down on his men from above and they scattered in panic, may have been his single greatest tactical mistake today. This was quickly becoming a disaster. His men were not used to such resistance, were definitely not ready for surprise attacks from above, and their morale was plummeting. He needed something dramatic to rally them. He needed… Shumway peered through the trees and found his target. The man at the center of this battle, barking out orders relentlessly, oozing an energetic confidence.

_Yes._ How did that old saying go? _Cut off the head…_ Shumway lifted his gun and took careful aim. The man was mid-sentence when the bullets ripped into his chest, and for a brief terrible moment the world stilled as the warrior's body hung briefly, then dropped to the forest floor.

…

"No! RUFUS! NOOO!"

Bellamy staggered, his blood simultaneously burning with disbelief and icy with grief. There had to be an alternative; it couldn't be this. This was too sudden, too final. He needed a real good-bye, he needed a warm smile and some last wise words about the love of a good woman, he needed more _time._

All he had, now, was the deep hollow where his heart had been, and the darkness took sudden advantage; it surged in, filling that cavity, and it turned Bellamy's face toward the man who had robbed him of so much.

He looked, saw the deadened black eyes and unrepentant smile of Commander Shumway. The darkness swelled up, pushed Bellamy forward, out from behind the thicket that had hidden him during this latest fight - and as he bore down on his unsuspecting opponent the darkness was no longer Bellamy's enemy, not his personal demon but an avenging angel at his side; it saw the man standing before them both and it roared in triumph because this would be a good death, a righteous killing, and the darkness understood this was to be its final act, that the fires of grief to come after would purge Bellamy's soul, and it was happy and willing to die on this day, in this way.

Commander Shumway, formerly of the Ark, briefly of Earth, glanced to his right just in time to see the flash of steel that heralded his death. As the blade plunged into his neck, severing his carotid artery with nearly medical precision, he looked into the eyes of Bellamy Blake and saw and recognized the darkness there, a darkness he knew so personally. He bled out on the forest floor, watching with envy as the darkness poured from the tortured, bent figure of Bellamy Blake one hot, fiery, grief-filled tear at a time.

…

After that it was over. Bellamy and Lincoln watched Shumway's men crumble without their commander's fanatical guidance. This had never been their battle, anyway; they were not fighting for their homes, their parents or children or lovers. The ones who surrendered were brought before Anya and Clarke, where they were told exactly what would happen to anyone who returned to these lands, and then they were released at the valley's edge and they became, eventually, just memories to haunt the ones who fought that day.

The bodies were buried, most in the graveyard, and eventually flowers bloomed over the mounds – a reminder that life and beauty always fought back on this amazing planet. As if to prove the point, three new, fragile, tiny members of the community arrived over the course of that summer.

…

The days grew longer and hotter and then, because there are certain laws no man can change, they grew shorter again, and cooler. Bellamy made his way carefully along the well-worn path that led between his home and Anya's village; the bundle in his arms needed protection, and besides - on a glorious day like today there was no reason to rush. At the halfway point he cut to the west, climbing the gentle slope until he reached a small clearing in the woods. The sun caressed a simple cairn in the middle of the clearing, warming the smooth grey stones. After taking a moment to compose himself, Bellamy turned to the fragile shape nestled against his body. He peeled back a layer of blanket, and smiled tenderly at the perfect sleeping form of his infant son.

"I brought him today," he finally managed, speaking quietly to the collection of stones under which his friend's body rested. "It's time I introduced him to his namesake, Rufus. Clarke said to tell you he's strong, stronger than any baby should be." He stopped speaking and tried to clear his throat of the hard lump there, but it had lodged itself too firmly.

After the tears stopped, Bellamy settled onto the grass beside the grave and stroked his child's dark curls as he shared the news of the day. The sun dropped steadily behind him while he spoke, but he didn't notice until Clarke's voice floated to him from the edge of the woods. He glanced up and smiled at her as she crossed toward them. She was radiant; the setting sun bathed her in a warm golden light that lit her hair on fire, kissed her cheeks and chin delicately, and warmed Bellamy's tattered, scarred soul. He handed the still-sleeping baby to her and they turned their faces to the sunset, watching the colors bleed and change and deepen. Clarke felt Bellamy's arm creep around her waist and she smiled, leaning into him, remembering another sunset… that seemed a lifetime ago.


	30. Chapter 30

"ULTIMATE: _(adj.)_ being or happening at the end of a process; final."

_[A/N: _Marina Black1_. My beta. My goddess. My Muse spirit guide. This story happened because of her so if you liked it AT ALL I hope you will join me in giving her a big internet hug!]_

_…_

**_"Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love."_**

**_~ Khalil Gibran_**

…

"Marina! Rufus! Slow down!" Lincoln shook his head in frustration and ran after the cousins. Three years had changed everything about parenting. He enjoyed the more predictable sleeping habits, but he missed being able to put the baby somewhere and have it just… _stay_ there. This constant need to go, and never just to walk, but always at a breakneck run – nobody had told him about this part. Octavia just smiled and continued toward the Wall, whistling up at whoever was greeting her from those invisible perches.

The gate was open - it usually was these days – and Octavia headed straight for the drop-ship. She hugged Tyler and looked around, surprised at how quiet it was today.

"Where's Abby? I thought for sure she'd still be here," Octavia asked. While many of the Ark's citizens had decided to form their own new colonies, several others had opted to try living here, with Clarke and Bellamy's people.

"Most of the guests are already at Clarke's home," Tyler offered, and she thanked him, reminding him not to stay at work too long – or he'd miss all the fun.

Lincoln rejoined her as she started up the path; he now had a toddler perched on each broad shoulder.

"So, still think twins sounds like a fun idea?" Octavia teased the handsome warrior. He grimaced at a tiny finger poking him in the eye and grunted.

"I like having just this one, for now," he admitted. Marina giggled and leaned dangerously forward, searching out her daddy's eyes.

"I love you," she announced somberly, and Octavia's heart swelled so much it actually hurt.

"I love my daddy!" Rufus shouted at her in alarm, concerned lest there be some confusion as to his loyalties.

"We know, thank you," Lincoln replied softly as he lowered the children to the ground outside Clarke and Bellamy's cabin. They raced inside, bickering gently, and Lincoln gathered Octavia into his arms for a quick kiss before they followed.

The front room was already packed with guests. Clarke was pacing near the door, and when Octavia entered she waved to her in relief.

"I was worried you'd be late," she whispered to her sister-in-law.

"Not for this! Are you kidding?" Octavia beamed. She asked where the baby was, and Clarke grinned, pointing toward the back rooms. "Okay - I'll be right back." Octavia slipped away from the crowd and entered the small bedroom belonging to Rufus and his baby sister.

"Bell?" she called softly.

"In here, O! She's awake, no need to whisper." He joined Octavia in the first bedroom, immediately handing little Anya over. Like her brother, black hair curled around her startling blue eyes, and her skin was a light gold - as if it had been ever-so-gently kissed by the sun. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if you actually miss me at all. I think you just come for the babies."

"Yup – not for you at all," she shot back immediately. "I just need to snuggle my niece and nephew. Keep making cuties like these, okay?" Bellamy grinned.

"Is that an order? Because you're not my leader," he pointed out.

"Consider it a friendly suggestion?"

"Hmm, I'll still have to make sure it's okay with my actual leader," Bellamy began, and Octavia shifted Anya to her left hip so she could smack her brother more easily.

"Ow! Hey! No hitting in front of the kids!"

Clarke slipped in then, and snagged the baby away from the siblings. She raised one chastising eyebrow at the pair before announcing that it was time to start.

The wedding ceremony itself was simple, and even though Raven and Monty managed not to cry, Mei found Jasper in a corner after, swiping at his eyes.

"Jasper? Are you going to be okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. I'm happy, you know. They're good together." He managed a rough smile.

"I agree, they _are_ good together. But you know… nothing really changed today. They're still your best friends." She smiled back at him warmly. Jasper sighed a great soul-cleansing sigh and wrapped himself around Mei in a sudden, grateful hug.

"Thank you, Mei, I needed that so much. You know, I have to tell you I really appreciate – uh-oh, here comes Miller; gotta go!" and he took off with a vaguely terrified expression.

"What the hell was that about?" Miller asked.

"I'm pretty sure you never have to worry about Jasper hitting on me," Mei answered with a grin. "Hm. I guess I never realized how scary you are."

"Oh, I'm terrifying."

"Clearly."

"Only one thing scarier than me," he added. Mei frowned.

"And that is…?"

"Her, if I don't get her down for a nap soon." Miller nodded in the direction of Maia, a miniature version of his beautiful Mei; the little girl was happily dancing in the middle of the room to a beat nobody else could hear. Mei laughed and called Maia over, and the three said their farewells and headed home.

The party wore on, and the revelers enjoyed every minute. They laughed and shared stories, and at some point a heated discussion developed around ancient wedding customs. One old tradition Clarke and Octavia had uncovered when they first started researching Earth weddings was the tossing of the bouquet; it seemed wonderfully ridiculous, and now they decided Raven had to give it a try.

As the flowers soared through the air, the crowd laughed and jostled self-consciously; nobody was sure if they wanted to be the one to catch the flowers or not. Clarke lost sight of them in the shuffle, and it was only when the crowd parted in shocked disbelief that Clarke saw what had become of the bouquet. It had landed in Marcus Kane's cup, and his face was a mixture of panic and wistfulness as he looked up from the delicate white blossoms and caught Abby Griffin's eyes across the room. Clarke blushed at the implication - and suddenly found herself wrapped in Bellamy's arms. He bent down slightly, burying his face in her neck, and Clarke forgot all about Kane, and Abby, and the entire wedding. She leaned back against him, fitting comfortably into that space meant just for her. Bellamy's fingers traced a gentle circle against her arm and he squeezed her gently.

"Now, Princess, how the hell do we get rid of all these guests?" he asked her quietly. He wanted Clarke to himself.

"You're asking the wrong question, King Bellamy." Clarke smiled mischievously, and called across the room to Harper and Monroe. The girls were happy to watch Anya and Rufus for a bit. As soon as the couple slipped out the door, Harper turned to Monroe and grinned.

"They're totally gonna do it." She giggled.

"Harper, grow up. Of course they are."

…

The sun had abandoned them, but the western sky still glowed a warm reddish-orange as Bellamy pulled Clarke through the gate and deep into the woods. She followed him willingly, because she had long ago placed all her trust in him. When he finally stopped, Clarke smiled at him in stunned disbelief. Bellamy had managed to find a part of the woods she'd never explored before, and she knew she would be back in the morning with a sketchbook. An ancient tree, gnarled and twisted and curved – but never broken – had become the trellis upon which a delicate flowering vine now grew, thick as a curtain. Its white trumpet-shaped flowers carried a subtle hint of bioluminescence, so that the ground underneath the canopy seemed a softly glowing, floating island in the darkness. Clarke's heart soared at the beauty and she stretched up, reaching for one of the flowers, eager to note its details. She froze at the warmth of Bellamy's mouth on her collarbone, though, and her blood raced to that spot. When next he kissed her chin, then her lips, with a tenderness that broke her open, she closed her eyes in surrender and gave in to the fierce frightening love she carried for him.

Bellamy fought against the overwhelming power of his primal need to consume Clarke completely, forever. Tonight was not for that. Tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after… each of those days would add up to forever, eventually. His job now was just to love her fully in this moment. He could not give her more, and she deserved no less, and as he gathered her against his body, as he gently shed her clothes and his, he focused on the immediacy of her. He focused on her flawless skin, glowing coolly in this pale blue light. On her eyes, wide and dark and calling to him seductively. On the delicious curves beneath his hands, made softer, rounder, more beautiful with the birth of two children.

"Bellamy," Clarke panted, and the sound of his name on her lips lit him afire. He became whole when he joined with her, and he marveled at her ability to reach down inside him time after time, to seek out his sad, wounded soul and wash it clean with her love, to stitch it back together and offer it back to him as if he owed her nothing for the service. He owed her _everything_.

Clarke gasped when Bellamy's mouth sought hers out so fervently, and he robbed her of her breath. She wondered if any language had words for the way he had snuck into her bones, her heart, her whole body. It had happened without her permission, because love was not kind or polite, and it most certainly did not ask first. It was selfish and loud and demanding, and it had decided to tie her to this man. Forever.

As she felt that familiar lovely heat begin to overtake her, crowding out all words in favor of a single, incessant, soaring crescendo of blinding white bliss, her last coherent thought was that "forever" meant they finally - _finally_ – had enough time.

* * *

**TO ALL OF YOU: Writing this story was such an amazing experience for me. I will confess that I can't even read the end of chapter 29 without crying - every time. I am so grateful to everyone who has stuck with me through the end, and I want each of you to know, I am SO thankful for the time you have spent, reading my words. Since I am on here to grow as a writer, I would like to ask one small favor from you. Consider it payment for services rendered if you wish... I would really love to know your thoughts on the piece as a whole, and if there's something you particularly loved or (gulp) hated. Thank you all again, so SO much. I hope to see you over on my next ****piece!**


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